Observations
by jAnon
Summary: First Officer Spock comments on life aboard the Enterprise and his service under Captain James T. Kirk.
1. Ch 1

Author's note--

It's come to my attention that this site lost all of my section breaks for every chapter, going up to the high 100's. If you would like to continue reading, I strongly suggest that you go to my profile, where I provide a link to this fic posted on livejournal. That version has retained the proper formatting of the chapters. It's simply too much work for me right now to go through each chapter (and each of the other fics hosted on this site) and insert section breaks. Thanks, and I'm sorry for the inconvenience.

j. Anon

* * *

Serving under Captain James Tiberius Kirk will be a markedly different experience. Already there are several points where he diverges from the structured command style of Admiral Christopher Pike. I anticipate that it will be some time before I am able to optimize my performance and carry out my duties at my personal standard of efficiency.

The observations I made concerning Admiral Pike and his First Officer, Number One, do not seem to apply to my situation. Their relationship was marked by implicit trust, candor, and an intimate, intuitive knowledge of the other's thought process. None of these qualities are present in my current situation with the captain, nor do I foresee such developments in the near future. Furthermore, the effort I made to understand Admiral Pike and the extensive data I gathered on his character are now irrelevant. Captain Kirk and Admiral Pike have few human characteristics in common.

How is it possible that this alien species is able to sustain such extensive psychological diversity? Is there any clear advantage or disadvantage?

I requested of Nyota an evaluation of the captain's character. She is usually a good judge of her own species, and has demonstrated the ability to limit the use of subjective data in coming to her conclusions. However, in this case, maintaining objectivity was a particularly difficult task. Her final remarks were significantly influenced by her dislike of the captain. She submitted that James Kirk "is crazy. He might have saved the world, but he's still an arrogant asshole." Nyota is not in the habit of employing human derogatory language in her speech. "He's a manipulative, self-serving, unprofessional, immature, insensitive _boy_ that Starfleet made captain because they didn't have any other option."

Her intense hostility towards the captain seems to originate from a single incident.

"He deliberately provoked you, forced you to compromise yourself emotionally, just to take command of the _Enterprise_ and do what he 'felt' was right."

When I reminded her that the captain's decisions proved to be the correct course of action, she replied, voice raised, that "the ends do _not_ justify the means! He could have tried another way, instead of using every dirty trick in the playbook." She neglected to recall that he had tried to convince me of the necessity of his proposal, though the logic behind his arguments was insufficiently rigorous. I have noted, however, Nyota has a tendency to exhibit highly emotional, and often aggressive, behavior towards those she perceives as somehow harming me. As I have recovered from the series of incidents, it is no longer necessary for her to act in this protective manner. She continues to do so, however, despite my efforts to assure her that no significant damage was inflicted.

Since Nyota's evaluation was not satisfactory, I directed similar inquiries towards Lieutenant Sulu. His scientific training as a botanist and prolonged interactions with Captain Kirk as helmsman contributed to my conjecture that he might provide a more objective answer. The other candidate would have been Lt. Chekov. I determined that though his grasp of physics is remarkable by human standards, his extreme youth would effect his judgment in this matter.

"Captain Kirk?" Lt. Sulu gave an expression of puzzlement. "I think he's a good captain. He thinks fast on his feet and isn't afraid of taking risks. He's a lot less strict than some of the other captains I've served under—things aren't as tense on the bridge. And he cares about his crew. The captain inspires loyalty. I know a lot of crew members, especially in the security section, who think he's," Lt. Sulu searched for the appropriate term, "they're looking forward to serving with him. He's been training with them, recently," he paused again. "Why do you ask, sir?"

A distinctly human tendency. This never ending quest to find the answer to "why." Among Vulcans, there is no need to question motivations. The logic behind one's actions is there for all to see. The motivations for human actions, driven by emotion, are much less transparent.

I answered with another inquiry. Lt. Sulu provided a definitively positive response and failed to mention important factors such as the captain's distinct lack of experience. He chose to phrase what others might call "recklessness" as a willingness to take risks. He emphasized the quality of loyalty, and asserted that many of the crew feel this emotion towards a captain with whom they have only served ten days. "Do you also feel loyalty towards the captain, Lt. Sulu?"

His face resolved into a determined expression. It seems that the lieutenant has also been influenced by one definitive event.

"The captain saved my life."

An interesting response, since it was in fact Lt. Chekov who managed to transport both the captain and Lt. Sulu back to the ship, saving them both from certain death. The captain was as powerless as the lieutenant in that situation. When I pointed out this flaw in his logic, the helmsman simply shook his head.

"It's not the outcome that really mattered, Commander. It was the fact that the captain jumped—he never hesitated—to try and do everything and anything to get me. He'd do that for any one of his crew. That's something you can't fake. He went with you on the _Narada_, and covered your back, didn't he? And he made good on his promise to Admiral Pike."

Two disparate, emotional opinions concerning the captain, given by two humans who I would normally consider to be less inclined to give into such impulses. I have duly noted these opinions, but neither can be relied upon in my observations of the captain.

What is clear, however, is that the captain educes strong emotional responses in those who come into close contact with him.

This may explain Dr. McCoy's behavior. He is certainly an individual prone to explosive, emotional outbursts. However, perhaps proximity to Captain Kirk induces these reactions to occur at an increased frequency. The chief medical officer's source and target of anger and frustration is often the captain, though I find that myself to be on the receiving end of Dr. McCoys displays more and more.

I will find a way to limit my interactions with the doctor. His rampant emotionalism interferes with my efficiency and ability to perform my duties on the bridge.

There is a point of commonality between the three human reactions to the captain. It is never explicit—I suspect that Nyota would feel embarrassed should she ever admit this aloud. Dr. McCoy, Lt. Sulu, and Lt. Uhura respect the captain. Their respect is of varying degrees, of course. I venture to say that Nyota almost resents the fact that she respects the captain enough to serve under him. She has sometimes alluded to his surprising intelligence, and has admitted that he is effective in crisis situations and performs more than adequately in the day-to-day dealings aboard this starship. Lt. Sulu, from observation, respects the captain's qualities from a tactical, military point of view. I am uncertain as to the source of Dr. McCoy's respect. He conduct is contradictory at best. He regularly disagrees with the captain in word yet follows his orders in deed, without reluctance in either aspect.

I will not to form opinions, as humans do. There is no purpose to expressing preference based on arbitrary criteria. Such preferences lead to fallacies in logic. I will fulfill my duties as first officer to Captain Kirk, as a science officer in Starfleet, and as a Vulcan in the Federation.


	2. Ch 2

Dr. McCoy exhibits signs of deep xenophobia.

His comments directed at my person, which are usually focused on some aspect of my Vulcan background or mixed heritage, are spoken with the clear intent of provoking a visible emotional response. Initially, relations between us were courteous and professional, perhaps slightly strained on his part, due to my involvement with the captain's academic hearings. Immediately after the destruction of Vulcan, relations were extremely formal. The doctor devoted a considerable amount of energy to restrain himself from saying anything humans might consider insulting or derogatory. He established new behavioral patterns in accordance with an archaic North American code of propriety.

Neither the visible effort nor the restraint are present currently. The reason for this change is not clear. I have observed that some humans are incapable to suppressing their emotions for extended periods of time. As of yet I have not ascertained whether he acts purely out of a personal aversion to me, or if other variables are effecting him.

The doctor has, however, on several occasions declared emphatically to the captain his revulsion at our frequent encounters with other alien species. Words such as "inhuman" and "insane" and other "colorful turns of phrase," as Nyota puts it, are bandied about with startling ease.

It is not fitting for an officer in Starfleet, on board an vessel dedicated to exploratory missions, with an 87.65% chance of initiating an average of 62.9 First Contacts per five year period, to conduct himself in such a manner.

Furthermore, this ship is scheduled to take on several diplomatic missions. The Federation will send the captain and the _Enterprise_ to mediate conflicts, and Dr. McCoy's present attitudes would be detrimental to the success of such missions. Interplanetary negotiations are notoriously fickle, where violation of some minor cultural taboo may provide grounds for breaking off relations and initiating war. If, as his current behavior indicates, the doctor is unable to curb his manner of speech, there is an extremely high probability that he will not only offend alien dignitaries, but misrepresent the Federation and that body's stated goals. It is not unreasonable to surmise that any diplomatic parties would assume that the Federation does not truly seek to act as an unbiased, neutral mediating party.

Nyota informed me that Dr. McCoy joined Starfleet out of economic necessity. Whatever the original basis for his decision, as an officer aboard the _Enterprise_ and representative of the Federation, he is obligated to uphold a standard of conduct and execute his duties such that they do not interfere with the success of the missions. He has made it sufficiently clear that he disagrees with the Vulcan principles upon which the philosophy of this expedition was founded, but he must respect them.

The captain has not seen it fit to formally reprimand the chief medical officer. Therefore, I must take it upon myself to raise the subject matter with the captain.

--

"Woah, wait, Spock. You think Bones is xenophobic?"

"His actions strongly indicate that the doctor has a fear of alien species."

"Spock, Bones doesn't actually mean half the stuff he says. He's just joking. You know, being all human and illogical."

"I had considered that possibility that this was an elaborate form of Terran humor, given that humans have a propensity to find emotional satisfaction in another's misfortune. However, such a propensity does not explain the intensity with which he articulates his opinions and the distinct lack of laughter on his part. You, captain, are the one who laughs." The captain began to frown. "Furthermore, there is a point when such pleasure is not derived from the miserable situation of another individual, but from another group that is perceived in some way to be different from the group with which the xenophobe identifies himself."

"Look, I guess I can see how you might think that Bones is xenophobic. But that's just not who he is—he's not _mean_ like that. Bones is sarcastic about everything, Spock. He's always cracking jokes about humans too, muttering about how we're off our collective rockers for flying out in a vacuum in nothing but a fancy tin can. I mean, if he were a closet xenophobe, why doesn't he refuse to see to your medical needs or something?"

"Dr. McCoy does not service me in the Sickbay."

"_What?_"

"My medical needs are attended to by Dr. M'Benga. He specializes in xenophysiology and received some training from the healers of Vulcan. As my own physiology favors my Vulcan heritage, it is only logical that I have been assigned to Dr. M'Benga's care. He is also familiar with my medical history, as he and I both served under Admiral Pike. That issue, however, is not revelant to our present subject matter."

"Spock--"

"Your reluctance to broach this topic with the doctor is atypical of you, captain. The logical rigor of the arguments that I have put before you well exceeds the standards required by humans, though my brief experience under your command has established that rationality is never the guiding principle by which you take action. If you find the prospect of such a discussion unpleasant, then I will speak to Dr. McCoy."

"No, I'll talk to him," the captain replied. He gave me a long look. "Commander, I'm sorry if Dr. McCoy has offended you in any way."

"Captain, you may be assured that I did not act out of any offense taken. As first officer of the _Enterprise_, it is my duty to inform you of any and all circumstances that might impact the efficient operation of this ship and successful accomplishment of assignments."

"Of course, Spock. I would have expected nothing less." The captain fixed me with a cryptic look once more. "Dismissed."


	3. Ch 3

As is our habit, Nyota accompanied me to my quarters.

"Do people ever surprise you?" she asked as the door shut behind us.

"Daily. The rules under which human emotions operate differs so greatly from the tenets of Vulcan logic that I often find myself unable to comprehend human thought and action. However, humans tend to establish certain patterns of action, habits and personality traits, which allows me to anticipate some behaviors, though the principles guiding them, if they exist, are beyond any form of logic."

She smiled and sat down beside me. "No, I meant, do you ever think you know everything about a person, and then they do something unexpected?"

"No. I am rarely able to map the entirety of an individual human's routines and character. Even then, a person who is completely predictable seems to be an anomaly among humans and, according to psychological studies of your species, a sign of mental illness. Some degree of the eccentric and unorthodox is considered to be necessary."

A most perplexing quality, as those who fall on the opposite end of the spectrum are considered to be unsound as well.

"You are the only person with whom I have developed a significant relationship. Thus far, I make no claims as to knowing every aspect of you. Your behavior is familiar, but neither predictable nor unexpected."

"So, Dr. Spock, do you give me a clean bill of health?"

Her eyes were bright and laughing. I only nodded, right eyebrow raised.

She gave me a brief kiss. She often does this when we are together in private, and something I say or do effects her emotionally.

"Did this experience occur to you today?"

"Yes. In a good way."

"I would not be averse to listening to an account."

"Piqued your curiosity, have I?" she smiled, the expression generous and free. "I think I'll keep this to myself, for now. I want to make sure it's not a fluke."

"If you so desire. May I inquire, however, as to the identity of the individual who has surprised you?"

"The captain."

I had not anticipated that answer. Nyota laughed at my apparent surprise.

"That's exactly what I felt, too. But James Tiberius Kirk is nothing, if unpredictable," she said wryly. "I promise I'll tell you about it later. I just need to think a little about this."

"Does this mean that you have changed your opinion of him?"

"Not yet. But ... do you remember the first time you studied pre-warp English?"

I nodded.

"Of all the languages on Earth, I thought pre-warp E was the worst. The underlying grammar has almost no structure compared to some other languages, there are ten thousand exceptions for every rule, it relies heavily on word order to convey meaning. Its origins and evolution are equally convoluted. On top of that, a substantial amount of the communication is actually done through voice inflection, facial expression, and body language."

"All human languages still depend heavily on non-verbal cues, Nyota. However, I do recall your frustration. The difficulty you had grasping the language was unusual among humans. Many of the students find pre-warp English to be much more familiar than, for example, Romulan, or any of the other alien languages we studied. The Federation's Standard has its origins in that language."

"I think," she paused. "It was the fact that it was so utterly pliant. Pre-warp E is one of the best examples of the dominance of descriptive grammar. The speakers dictate the rules, they change the meaning of words based on use, they essentially are able to create their own grammatical structures--and the language lets them."

"Which provides the reason why you excelled in languages more closely related to Hellenic Greek, standard Klingon, modern Vulcan. And fare very poorly with most of dialects of Orion."

"Exactly. Languages that are rigid, with specific and well defined words--such languages allow for incredible precision in expression."

Frequently in our conversations, Nyota abruptly begins to speak on a new topic, seemingly unrelated to the previous, or current, matter of discussion. She does not do it to simply change the subject. There is a common thread that ties it together. I find it puzzling, however, that a woman who is able to deftly absorb carefully constructed, highly grammatical languages has an extremely circuitous thought process. Just as my mother. She appreciated and gained an understanding of the Vulcan disciplines of logic, yet she herself never was able to fully implement them. I am unsure as to whether she failed because of inherent differences between the human and Vulcan brains, or because she did not desire the successful application.

"Nyota, what commonalities exist between your experience grasping pre-warp English and you opinion of the captain?"

Another pause. Watching Nyota craft a sentence, one that will capture the idea she wishes to communicate, is fascinating. I rarely see humans put so much thought into what they say.

"I went back and looked at some of the old literature and poetry of the time. I'm not sure why I did it, but I flipped through the textbook, and read through my old notes again. This time, I saw details that I missed. The flexibility of pre-warp E is its greatest weakness, but also its greatest strength. It gives incredible power to the speaker, who can use, or misuse, the language. But it also places a responsibility on the listener. They must interpret the message correctly, draw upon other knowledge to judge the truth and motives behind the speaker's words.

"It occurred to me that Jim might be the same way. All of his actions can be interpreted in the broadest possible way. You can make what you want of him-- you can make him a hero, you can make a delinquent. Some of the crew think the captain is their best friend, some of us can't stand him. And while he's aware of all this, he doesn't bother to correct our interpretations. He simply acts, he responds by giving exactly what is required of him."

"You have known the captain for longer than I have known him, and have had an ample amount of time to observe and analyze him. I was under the impression that you had formed all your conclusions. Yet all of these thoughts, which indicate a willingness to reevaluate your current opinion, were brought about by a single incident?"

She laughed. "Amazing, isn't it?"

Before I could engage her further in the conversation, she retrieved my lute and produced some Terran sheet music.

"Enough about work. Did you get a chance to look at the Bach I sent you? It has many similarities with the Sh'elath piece you played two days ago. The counterpoint that Bach develops in this seventh measure is brilliant, it reminded me of the twentieh makaam, right here."

The remainder of the time was spent on music, on Bach and Sh'elath. Nyota confessed that unlike her preference in language, in music she favored genres that allowed for improvisation, irregular rhythms, and dissonant sounds. Her favorite form of music is actually singing—she is quite adept at creating her own songs, complete with lyrics, melody, and harmony.

"Someday we'll listen to Ella Fitzgerald and jazz singers of the Harlem Renaissance," she promised. "You'll love it."

I raised an eyebrow at the word choice.

"It's that good," she smiled, and kissed me again.


	4. Ch 4

We have been aboard the Federation Starship _Enterprise_ for exactly 500 Terran hours. In those 500 hours, we have conducted scientific probes of two potential mining colonies, observed a red giant in its dying phases transform into a white dwarf, delivered medical supplies to the outpost on Theta IX, and rendezvoused with the U.S.S. _Potemkin_ to accompany the crippled vessel back to Starbase 7.

Humans typically require 408 hours in order to completely adapt to their surroundings. The mishaps that occurred regularly during the first 240 hours in space have been reduced significantly as the crew falls into the rhythm of the ship's operations. The captain has also established a routine.

The U.S.S. _Enterprise_ runs by the standard Terran clock, where one 24-hour period is counted as a single day. This decision is logical, given that the crew is 93% human. The three shifts, alpha, beta, and gamma, are each eight hours long, and the schedules are regimented in such a way such that there are eight hours allotted for work, eight hours for sleep, and eight hours for other recreational activities. For most humans, these hours optimize performance without placing undue stress on the mental and physical well-being of the individual.

However, Captain Kirk seems incapable of being "typical" in any respect.

The captain's circadian rhythms function on a 28-hour cycle, and because his days are no longer dictated by the rise and fall of the Terran sun—or more accurately, the rotation rate of the planet—the captain has opted to organize his personal work hours accordingly.

Typically, the captain sleeps for seven hours. After waking, he attends to his basic hygienic needs, and then consumes a light first meal. Following his meal, he briefly checks on the ship's status. If all is satisfactory and nothing requires his immediate attention, he goes to the ship's gymnasium and engages in his exercise regimen for one hour. He takes a sonic shower, dresses in his uniform, and begins the first of his three shifts on duty. The shifts are broken up into intervals of approximately five, five, and four hours, with hour long breaks between shifts for meals. These numbers are not exact, and the captain is liable to change his routine at any time for any reason. However, he consistently is on duty for at least fourteen hours per circadian cycle. The remainder of the time is spent in various forms of recreation.

Just as the captain is incapable of adhering to a normal human schedule, the captain is incapable of sitting still. This is a characteristic unique to James T. Kirk. Admiral Pike was not only able, but preferred, to remain in his command chair for extended periods. Captain Kirk, on the other hand, rarely remains on the bridge for more than fifty minutes. He is constantly moving, visiting the engineering department, discussing measures with the Security Chief Giotto, observing the laboratory activity, inspecting the structure of the ship, conversing with crew members, testing computer terminals, holding conferences with the ship's department heads, organizing various activities—the list is interminable. His ceaseless movement, combined with his unusual schedule, has put him in contact with practically all of the crew, and despite the fact that he does not have an eidetic memory, he now knows 76% of the names and ranks.

I am unable to determine whether this behavior is due to the captain's inexperience in commanding a vessel, or if he will maintain this level of activity throughout our tour of duty.

Furthermore, the captain insists on personally taking part in every mission. Those missions that are usually delegated to their appropriate officers or departments, needing only the formality of the captain's approval, are all subjected to his oversight. For example, our scientific probes of the planets could easily have been conducted without his presence. Yet Captain Kirk remained on the bridge for the duration of the investigation, though he did not and could not contribute in any way to the procedures. He asked a few questions, but for the most part simply observed, by all appearances standing calmly, confidently, and uselessly on the bridge. When we completed our tasks and departed for our next assignment, he asked to be given a 1000-word summary of the final report.

The oversight is apparently not unwelcome among the human officers. They do not view it as a form of micromanagement, nor do they believe that the captain is questioning their competency and proficiency in fulfilling their tasks. Instead, they feel that it indicates his interest in their projects, and they find it reassuring. This is a surprising assessment, especially given that when I engage in similar actions, humans sometimes become defensive, resentful, and interpret such actions as interference or in extreme cases, a threat.

We are currently en route to our next destination, with estimated time of arrival in 120 hours. Captain Kirk has lately been using his recreational time reading files from the Starfleet archives. I briefly skimmed over the files he has just completed, and most of these reports contain records of disastrous situations and the various solutions attempted. Some of the captain's logs were the last that the starship transmitted before all those on board died. Given the grim nature of these documents, the captain is somewhat subdued. There is no indication, however, that he has suddenly developed a harmful emotional imbalance. If it were so, then Dr. McCoy would forcibly detain the captain for a session of psychological testing and counseling.

I cannot help but think that the captain is planning something. He has a certain expression on his face, a light behind his eyes, that speaks of a scheme forming in the recesses of his mind.

At this exact moment, he is reading the performance evaluations of the _Enterprise_ crew, which I compiled at his request. The instructions were markedly vague: "Just put together a report about all the departments-- stats about their efficiency, accident rates, quality of work, that sort of thing. I want to know your opinion about any strengths, weaknesses, where we can improve in regular, standard conditions. Basically, give me your best analysis and recommendations. And don't file it with Starfleet—just send it to my computer directly. Think you can do that in, say, five hours?"

I completed the task in four hours and thirteen minutes.

What he plans on doing with this information is unknown to me. His comments indicate that he wishes to improve the performance of the crew, though again, the nature of that improvement and the methods that might be used to achieve it are beyond me. It is only through time and experience that a crew attains peak efficiency. If he seeks to prepare for every emergency situations—which I suspect is more along the captain's line of thought—then it is a futile endeavor. Emergencies by their very nature are unpredictable, and it is impossible to drill for all crises that might arise on a Constitution Class vessel.

Is this part of an obsession? Captain Kirk's stance on no-win situations is well known. He has already gained a wide reputation for "making the impossible possible." This is largely based on his actions in the _Narada_ crisis. A single incident is hardly sufficient data upon which to found such a claim. I am inclined, in the absence of additional data, to count the outcome of those events as a statistical outlier. That is not to say that the captain does not perform well when the odds are decidedly against his favor. Any being claiming sentience can easily observe that he thrives in chaos. However, he is human, finite, mortal, and therefore limited.

At times I wonder if he is aware of this.

This next mission will be the first requiring an away team. The captain has already decided that he will lead the team, and will not be dissuaded from this pursuing this course of action.

"Spock, this is my job as a captain. I'm not going to sit here high above in orbit while my crew is planetside."

"Captain, this mission does not require your presence on the planet. The risk that some sort of catastrophe will befall the away team, as you seem to irrationally fear, is minimal."

"I don't think that they're going to die down there if I'm not with them—I'm not stupid, Spock. What's the problem with me going down, if there's no risk of danger?"

"Standard Starfleet procedure—"

"Yeah, I know, I read that book about all that standard procedure shit. I do things differently."

"There is a reason that such protocols are established, captain. Starfleet has written these instructions based off years of trial and error, from countless missions undertaken by a diverse range of captains commanding vessels in several different sectors of the galaxy. You, on the other hand, have had scarcely 668 hours commanding this or any other vessel. Your experience in such matters is inadequate, and your decision to disregard these procedures is logically unsound."

The captain glared at me and made a sound of frustration.

"Fine, all that shit is here for a reason, I never disagreed with that. My point is that if we could run a starship relying only on these nifty Starfleet manuals, we would just program everything into robots and run the ship that way—but we don't! There might be a reason that Starfleet has ten thousand mandatory steps and two million safety precautions, but there's also reason why they still have captains and actual people on ships.

"And will you quit throwing in my face the fact that I'm the fucking youngest captain in Starfleet? You're right, I need experience, don't think I'm ever going to forget it. But that's why I'm going on down with the away team on this mission."

"Starfleet strongly recommends that—"

"Exactly, Starfleet strongly recommends. They never explicitly forbid the captain from being part of the away team because that would just be really idiotic."

I was about to make a rebuttal, but the captain cut off any further discussion with a curt "We're done with this little chat. Commander, meet me in my quarters at 0300."


	5. Ch 5

"Come in."

The door slid open to standard issue Starfleet officer quarters. It was surprisingly sparse—the captain had none of the usual sentimental accoutrements that humans generally use to decorate their living spaces. The space was neat and uncluttered. The only modification that the captain introduced was at his desk. There were two computer terminals, one Starfleet issue, and another that seemed to be built by the captain. He was bent over the computer when I entered.

"Just a second." The captain quickly entered something and then turned his attention to me.

"You desired to speak with me, sir."

"Yeah." He looked at me intently for a moment. "Are you really going to challenge me on practically every single decision that I make?"

I stiffened reflexively.

"As your first officer, it is my duty to question your orders if I consider them to be flawed or ill determined."

"Bullshit."

The expression on my face must have been that of surprise. After a moment, I regained control of my features. I straightened and stood at attention before him.

"I was not aware that our perceptions of the duties of my office were incompatible. If you would elaborate, captain, on that statement and clarify your meaning."

"Commander, there's a difference between constructive, useful, actually helpful criticism, and the shit you're pulling right now. Right now, all you're doing is making me look incompetent in front of the crew over insignificant issues. They're not going to have _any_ confidence in our combined ability to lead if you keep picking a fight."

"If I may inquire, captain, as to the issues that you deem 'important.'"

"Not this kind of technical, procedural stuff that they force on us from Starfleet. If you have legitimate concerns about the safety of the crew, the operations of the ship—something that might actually _matter_, then talk to me about it."

"Captain, these rules were established so that the safety of the crew and the continuous operation of the ship might be ensured. You insist on taking unnecessary risks for specious reasons. I judge that to be something that 'matters.' Additionally, you are the captain of the ship. Your example sets the norms of behavior among the crew—do you wish that they also take liberties with the set protocols? Your own propensity for recklessness encourages the same conduct in others."

"You think that some sort of snowball effect will happen in the crew because of me?" he asked, as though I was saying something highly illogical.

"I believe that humans call it 'setting the tone' on the ship."

"That's completely different from what you were talking about. You make it sound like I have some sort of highly contagious virus of illogic, and you're afraid the whole ship is going to get infected."

It is unfortunate illogic is not a virus. If it were a virus, there would be hope for a cure.

"Several studies have shown that human actions are highly subject to the perceptions of societal approval. If such actions, regardless of any potential dangers, are perceived as necessary for acceptance among those with status, then the majority will act in that manner."

The captain frowned and looked as though he was going to ask me to rephrase my statement, as he often does. He seemed to decide against it and took a moment to parse the words.

"So now you think that the crew will take risks left and right because they want my approval?"

"That is an oversimplification of the many facets of human psychology. However, I have noted that you demonstrate an affinity towards those individuals who, like yourself, show an inclination to disregard unfavorable odds."

"Of course I 'demonstrate an affinity' towards people like that—it's like recognizing your own species. People naturally gravitate towards others who understand them. I mean, if there were another Vulcan on board, then I bet you guys would spend all your time together, right?"

The question was a rhetorical one, but I tensed. The captain took no notice as he continued.

"But I wouldn't appreciate anyone who gambled on something and ended up destroying the ship." The captain ran his hand through his hair in a tired motion. "Spock, you're trying to apply rigid logic in your analysis of humans, and it's not going to work. Just because a study says that most people act this way or that way doesn't meant that _all_ people will. You can't really predict what a person is going to be like until you've actually spent some time with them. Maybe this guy will be a tool, maybe he won't.

"My point is that I don't think the crew will suddenly lose all sense of judgment because their captain happens to be a little reckless. And if I'm being unreasonably reckless"—I raised my eyebrows at that contradiction of terms—"that's why I have you. You'll call me on any of my bullshit."

"Then you agree that it is not necessary for you to go with the away team."

"No, that's not what I said," he said, emphasizing each word. "I said that I'm going to take risks, I'm probably going to endanger the ship a bunch, I'm probably going to get us into some messed up shit and fucked up situations. It's happened for every captain, and given my luck, it's guaranteed to happen a lot more.

"You, as my first officer, are going to use your logic to balance me out. But you're also going to pick your battles, because I'm not going to have every single thing I do questioned. I'll give due consideration to anything you say, but when I give my final orders, I expect them to be carried out to the letter, without hesitation. Is that clear, Commander Spock?"

The captain looked at me expectantly, as though there was nothing else to be said.

"No, captain. You remarked earlier that you would not tolerate anyone who endangered the ship as a result of their actions, yet it is acceptable for you to do so. Is that not hypocritical?"

"Spock. I'm the captain of this ship."

"I am aware of that fact, sir. That does not give you license to act as you please, nor does it give you the right to impose upon others standards which you yourself will not uphold."

The captain grew visibly angry and a taut silence settled in the cabin. I thought at first that he had no rebuttal except an outpouring of enraged emotion, but as I observed, resolve gathered behind his eyes.

"There is _nothing_ that I demand from the crew that I wouldn't do myself."

"Be that as it may, captain—"

"No, this is exactly the point that I'm trying to make. There is nothing I order anyone to do that I wouldn't do myself. A commander should know exactly what he's telling his people to do—what it entails, what it's like doing that shit, even know all those protocols that you're so in love with. I'm ordering these men and women down planetside to investigate whatever the fuck it is we're investigating, and I'm going to be right there beside them because I ordered it. I'm responsible for their lives, I'm responsible for their safety, I'm responsible for a whole bunch of other shit, and I'll be damned if anything happens to them because I ordered something that I couldn't even fucking condescend to do myself."

Fascinating. I had not considered that the captain feels he has something to prove. Having been promoted directly from a Starfleet cadet to ship's captain, he did not have the opportunity to experience those mundane duties that he feels he 'demands' of the crew.

Yet there is something more. Admiral Pike had similar protective attitudes towards his crew. However, he did not take such a deep proprietary interest, as Captain Kirk seems to have done. The admiral maintained a strict emotional distance from all the crew, with the exception of Number One, so that they might regard him only as their leader, not their friend. For the captain, the _Enterprise_ is not merely a matter of duty or obligation. There is something more.

"Did I make myself clear, Commander."

It was not a question.

"Yes, sir."

At that moment, the chief medical officer entered the room, oblivious to my presence.

"Hey Jim, I've got—oh, it's you," he scowled. He turned to the captain. "Want me to come back later?"

"No, Bones, stay. Spock was just leaving." The captain looked pointedly at the door.

"Indeed. Captain. Dr. McCoy."

I left the two men. And wondered briefly why I chose to follow the advice of my alternate self.


	6. Ch 6

One's efforts to avoid an individual are useless if that individual actively seeks one out.

It was clear that Dr. McCoy wished to say something to me. I surmised that the content of his speech had a 92% chance of being highly emotional, a 98% chance that inflammatory language would be used, an 84% chance that the subject matter was related to human emotions, and a 99% chance that the subject matter was also related to the captain. With such numbers, it was only prudent that I evade his attempts to engage me in any sort of communication.

The doctor is not unintelligent, however. He comprehended my wishes. Since stubbornness is one of Leonard McCoy's outstanding traits, he also did not respect my wishes, and instead found some means by which to fulfill his own plans.

Perhaps there is some value to the quality of unpredictability. It was my own regular nature that allowed the doctor to find me alone in the laboratory, in the finishing stages of an experiment and beginning to write my report.

"I thought I'd find you here," the doctor said, tone studiously neutral.

"If that is so, then you also know that I am currently in the process of completing capillary electrophoresis on these biological samples obtained from Minos. As time is a crucial factor before the samples are degraded by the electroosmostic flow of the buffer solution, it is necessary that you remove yourself from this facility."

The words came out harsher than I had intended.

"Damnit, Spock, I've been trying to talk to you for two days now, but you keep skittering away, finding some convenient excuse or another. Now, I know you're done, and that the electroosmotic flow probably won't mess up your samples even if you weren't. So quit acting like a four year old and just let me talk."

"You are already talking, Dr. McCoy, and there seems to be nothing I can do to prevent it."

With his usual bluntness, he immediately revealed his grievance. All four of my probabilities became realities, unsurprisingly.

"You've got to stop this stand-off you're having with Jim. I might not know much about command teams—I'm a doctor, not a general, for god's sakes. But I know enough that you two aren't working together. Actually, it's more like you've made it your goddamn personal goal needle Jim on every damn decision he makes, and everyone sees it. Hell, half the bridge doesn't think Jim is competent because of you!"

The doctor has a penchant for exaggeration.

"Doctor, have any of the crew expressed doubts in the captain's ability to command the _Enterprise_?"

"Not in words. But it's there. Christ, Spock, how the hell is Jim supposed to manage four hundred some people when his own first officer won't listen to him? You two are at each other's throats all the time on the bridge, and that doesn't give the crew a hell of a lot of confidence in the capabilities of their command. You _marooned_ Jim when you were captain, and now there's a pool going to see how long before Jim leaves your pointy ears on some icy rock."

Strange turns of phrase aside, I had not thought of the likelihood that the other crewmembers may be watching my own conduct towards the captain and identified it as an example of unrepentant insubordination. While serving with Admiral Pike, this, my standard demeanor, was not a problem.

Dr. McCoy mistook my silence as hostility. He seemed to reach a conclusion within himself, and abandoned his attempted reserved tones for more aggressive ones.

"He's doing the best he can, pulling double shifts, running around like a maniac trying to make sure he gets everything right. You're supposed to help him with his duties, not make them astronomically harder, damnit. Or if this is about some sadistic convoluted form of Vulcan revenge for emotionally compromising you—"

"You may be assured that I have harbor no residual emotions related to the events surrounding the _Narada_."

"No residual emotions my ass. That's what this is about isn't, it? You know, whenever it comes to Jim, you never make the damn logical choice. What was the point of bringing him up on academic charges? Or marooning him? He just gets under your Vulcan skin and makes your green blood boil, and you just can't stand that, so you tear him apart with that cold, inhuman, heartless logic—"

"_Bones_."

The captain stood in the doorway. The doctor and I had not noticed his presence and did not know how much of the conversation he overheard.

"Bones, Nurse Chapel needs you in Sickbay."

"What? Damnit, Jim, don't stick yourself in the middle of this," Dr. McCoy said, his voice pitched low.

"Bones, I _am_ the middle of this. Nurse Chapel needs you in Sickbay, so go," the captain replied, stern. Dr. McCoy simply looked at him, equally resolved to stay. "Do want me to make that an order?"

"Captain, my presence is required at a—"

"Spock, you don't have anything scheduled from 1000 to 1400."

There are definite advantages to being unpredictable. I do not appreciate my time being commandeered in this manner.

"Bones," the captain repeated.

"Fine, Jim. See you at lunch." Dr. McCoy stalked out of the laboratory, muttering angrily as he went.

As soon as the door closed, the captain looked directly at me, his eyes blazing.

"I thought we had an understanding."

"Understanding and agreeing are two distinct actions, captain. I understood your chain of reasoning, but I never expressed agreement with it." Before he could make some objection, I asked him, "Is it true, captain, that the crew believes that we are an incompatible command team, unable to operate proficiently?"

The captain frowned and tensed.

"Yeah. You said I set an example for the crew. Well, the same goes for you—for _us_—Spock."

"Captain, Dr. McCoy" accused "hypothesized that my action are borne out of a desire to retaliate against you. He is not correct in his supposition, but such a guess is not without merit. If this is the general impression among the human crew, then I will immediately correct my behavior and adjust for my miscalculation."

The captain seemed confused as to this change. I deemed it necessary to elaborate.

"I had not accounted for the importance of confidence for human morale among this new, and unusually young, crew. In that context, your requests are eminently reasonable. However, I require some time in order to fully integrate this new paradigm."

"Hold on a sec. Two minutes ago, you were telling me that you understood but didn't agree, and now you're telling me that you actually agree?"

"Affirmative. Dr. McCoy brought to my attention that my current manner is not conducive to the success of this mission."

"He did?"

The captain looked shocked that the chief medical officer and I could communicate on any level at all. I might have been inclined to classify the occasion as a minor miracle, if I shared the doctor's predilection for Terran religious references.

"Perceived insubordination and a widespread appraisal that we are an inoperative command team do not promote efficiency. Therefore my actions, while they were logical in other environments, are not logical here, as they produce inefficiency."

"Wait, what other environments?"

"The environment to which I was referring was my service under Admiral Pike."

"You mean you were like this to him _all the time_?"

"Indeed, captain. I fail to understand why you find this amusing."

"That poor bastard," the captain laughed, the sound filling the space of the laboratory. "That poor, poor bastard."

I will have to learn how to 'pick my battles.' The captain clearly does not want that I cease my criticism, simply that I exercise greater judgment in selecting those decisions that I challenge. This, however, entails familiarizing myself with the captain's command style and train of thought, an undertaking that has thus far yielded little fruit.


	7. Ch 7

"Mr. Spock, you have the conn."

The captain is now planetside, ordering the three men and two women of the science department to take the appropriate tricorder readings. Another away team led by Lt. Sulu has beamed down as well, to gather supplementary readings on another part of the planet. Starfleet hopes to establish a colony, as this planet is suitable for most humanoid life forms. The council will decide the species to which they will allocate the planet. It is likely the Tellarites will be awarded the privilege of colonization.

The planet, tentatively named Canutas, is relatively young in its geologic and evolutionary life, as the only life forms below consist of plants, various single celled forms resembling bacteria and other microorganisms, and small aquatic and amphibian life forms. The usual mineral and metal deposits are present. There is an abundance of mountainous terrain, though all volcanic activity is concentrated in the southwestern hemisphere. Most of the water is contained in large freshwater lakes that are scattered uniformly on the planet's surface. This phenomenon is not commonly exhibited among other planets of similar characteristics. I have already assigned the geologists and planetary experts on board to study the matter, and Starfleet will doubtless send scientists with the colonists for further research.

Lt. Uhura has received our next missions from Starfleet. The _Enterprise_ is to head to the edge of the galaxy and take general readings. It will be the first ship to conduct such a mission. On the way to the edge, we are to beam aboard a Mediator from Starbase 19 and escort her to Vera, where she will conduct negotiations of some confidential nature. We are also to deliver supplies and a few settlers from Starbase 19 to the colony Ophiucus III. Nyota mentioned that there were hints that after those three missions, the ship may be called to patrol the Romulan Neutral Zone.

Dr. McCoy is in the Sickbay, pacing. He is convinced that something will happen to the captain. His most insightful line of reasoning: "When has something _not_ happened to Jim?"

Thus far, nothing has extraordinary has befallen the captain. He has checked in regularly and promptly with the ship, as have the other members of the party.

Chief Engineer Scott, upon hearing that we were traveling to the edge of the galaxy, was enthralled by the prospect. He decided, however, that he and the maintenance crews would begin thorough checks on all systems and if possible, install upgrades to ensure our survival there and back. He, like Dr. McCoy, also believes that something is "liable ta happen to the captain. Space has a tendency t'get very strange around Jim Kirk, there's no mistake about tha, sir."

I do not understand this belief that the _Enterprise,_ particularly the captain, will suddenly meet a series of disasters. In the 620 hours that we have been on this mission, nothing bizarre, fatal, or catastrophic has happened.

"Well, yeh see Mr. Spock, I can't really explain it. It's just, I _know_, like I know this ship."

"Thank you, Mr. Scott, for your utterly unempirical explanation."

Lt. Chekov is in the process of calculating several routes for these upcoming missions. He occasionally mutters to himself in Russian while considering his options. The captain, I think, finds this quality endearing.

"_Yesli mui tak po'yedem, mimo_... _vot_... _b'udet shestdesyat chasov, hotya_..."

"Sulu to _Enterprise_."

"Spock here, Lt. Sulu."

"We're ready to beam up, commander."

"Transporter room, beam up Beta team."

"Kirk to _Enterprise_."

"Spock here, captain."

"Beam down a security team with radiation suits."

"Sir?"

"Just do it, Spock. I don't think it's anything, but there's no harm being careful. Also, Lt. Uhura?"

"Uhura here, sir."

"Do we have our next orders?"

"Yes sir, orders came in from Starfleet at 1656. The information has been sent to your computer console."

"Good. Download the information on Alpha team's tricorders, and keep communications open. Kirk out."

Nyota gave me a worried look. At that moment, Lt. Sulu returned to his post.

"Lt. Sulu, did you encounter any unusual readings while on the planet?"

"No, sir."

"You are certain of this."

"Yes, sir. I mean, I did biological readings and everything was as expected. It corroborated the ship's scans in orbit. Why?"

"The captain has requested that we beam down a security team."

"Transporter room to bridge."

"Spock here."

"We have just beamed down the security team fully suited sir, down to the captain's coordinates."

"What the hell is going on? Where's Jim? I just finished decontam for Beta team, where on God's green earth is Alpha?"

"Dr. McCoy, we are attempting to ascertain—"

"Commander Spock."

"Yes Lt. Uhura?"

"I'm picking up some signals from the planet, regular pulses that weren't there before."

"Is it possible that they could originate naturally from the planet?"

"Yes, probably from the magnetic field. It's creating some interference with the captain's signal."

"Continue to monitor the signal. Transporter room, lock in on the signals of Alpha team and the security team. Be prepared to beam them up at any time."

"Aye, sir."

"What the hell is happening, Spock?"

"We are simply taking precautionary measures, Dr. McCoy. Dr. Yukathu, your assessment."

"Sir, there seems to be an increase in volcanic activity, which might correspond to the regular pulses Lt. Uhura has been hearing."

"And?"

"Well, sir, the concentration of all volcanic activity in the southwestern hemisphere worries me. For most other planets, volcanic activity has been evenly spread throughout the planet, but instead we have lakes, for this planet. My belief is that these lakes are actually sitting on top of dormant or dead volcanoes. These pulses indicate that there is something going on in the core of that planet, for whatever reason—maybe it's time for the planet to change its magnetic polarity. In any case, there are two possibilities. The pressure under the surface of the planet is likely steadily getting higher."

"So Jim is standing on top of a planet that's about to blow?!"

"Not quite, Dr. McCoy. There will either be an explosive eruption in that most active region, or some of the dormant volcanoes will once again become active. Or both may happen."

"Sir, I'm beginning to lose contact with the landing parties."

"Transporter room, beam up the teams immediately."

"Mr. Spock, we've got some difficulties here with the magnetic field flarin' like it is."

"Mr. Scott—"

"Dammit, Scotty, beam them up _now_ or there won't be anything left."

"Dr. McCoy, remove yourself from the bridge. Your services may be needed in the Sickbay. Lt. Sulu, scan the planet for any humanoid life forms. Lt. Chekov, lend whatever assistance you can to Mr. Scott in the transporter room. Dr. Yukathu, are you able to provide an estimate as to the time of the eruptions?"

"If the pulses have just begun, then I'd say you have days before it really gets bad. There'll be smaller eruptions first, but if my hypothesis is correct, these won't be enough to alleviate the pressure underneath. The planet doesn't have too many lines in the way of plate tectonics, but there might be some earthquakes."

"Lt. Saenz, Ensign Aaby, Ensign Montoute report to shuttlebay. Lt. Sulu, do you have the coordinates for the captain?"

"Yes, sir."

"You will pilot the first shuttle, Lt. Saenz will pilot the second. Choose your deputies, they both have medical training. Locate the captain, the five science officers and four security personnel and bring them back to the ship. Due to the magnetic interference, communications will be inconsistent at best. Do not rely on contacting the ship. Your estimated time of arrival on the planet is 1733."

"Aye, sir."

"Lt. Uhura, forward the coordinates and necessary information to the shuttles."

"Already done, sir."

"Transporter room, what is your status?"

"The magnetic interference is just gettin' worse, Mr. Spock. Your best chance is to send down shuttles."

"Continue to search for a solution and remain on standby, Mr. Scott. Dr. Yukathu, how is it possible that the change in polarity of this planet's magnetic field could occur so quickly? Documentations of similar phenomenon on Terra, Vulcan, class M planets throughout the Federation, have indicated that this process occurs over a span of several years."

"Permission to speak, Commander Spock?"

"Granted, Dr. Shimura."

"Geologic readings from the tricorders indicate that the core of the planet is not composed of ferromagnetic metals. It's composed of titanium, paramagnetic and chromium, antiferromagnetic. We've never seen a combination like this before, and didn't even know that it was possible. We noted that the magnetic field of the planet was already much weaker than Earth's, so it's no surprise that most life is found in the water. In any case, the combination of titanium and chromium makes the planet unstable when its magnetic field switches polarities. That, and the fact that this solar system and therefore this planet, is young, means that the core is still much hotter than the core of those other class M planets you cited."

"Shimura, if that planet is still undergoing all these upheavals, how is possible that the life forms were able to attain an advanced stage? By my books only single celled organisms should exist on that surface."

"Well, we actually don't know and can't even begin to predict the frequency of the switches. Biological readings haven't been processed yet, but it is likely that a substantial number of the life forms will be wiped out, especially if they lose their aquatic habitats. Species were probably able to evolve this far because of the small scale. There are multicellular organisms down there, but they are quite small. Most of the plant forms are at the stage of vines, grasses, ferns and shrubs."

"As fascinating as the subject matter is, I find it necessary to cut this short. If you so desire, Dr. Yukathu, you and Dr. Shimura may organize a conference to discuss these recent findings. My priorities must at this moment be occupied elsewhere. Other than customary damage to those instruments sensitive to these magnetic fields, do either of you anticipate further damage if we remain in our current position?"

"No sir."

"Thank you. Lt. Chekov, return to the bridge."

At 1856, all members of the security team and the captain's away team were successfully retrieved. They had been exploring near a volcanic region when they were caught in an earthquake, 6.1 on the Richter scale. Ensign Andrukovych and Ensign Turner were injured with broken bones. Three suffered from minor burns, as the temperature had risen due to small eruptions in their general vicinity. Otherwise there were only minor scrapes.

The captain was in an extremely good mood after his rescue. After he was cleared for duty by a supremely irritated Dr. McCoy, he decided to stay in orbit for three more hours, allowing the scientists to collect additional readings through deep surface probes.

When I inquired as to the source of his happiness, he replied, "The mission went well. That's why."

My own assessment is slightly divergent.

* * *

A/N- Translations for all foreign languages, explanations of all mathematics and science, and other notes for _Observations_ can be found in my "story" entitled _Annotations_.


	8. Ch 8

Nyota is upset, and I do not know the solution to ease her distress.

I have long known that human and Vulcan expectations in romantic relationships are not compatible. Observing the many struggles that my mother faced has left me with no doubt in that respect. My father was often unable to give the emotional support my mother needed. So great was her love for him, however, that she developed several methods to cope with her situation.

Nyota is not a particularly emotive person, by human standards. I have come to look forward to the time we spend together, as it is intellectually stimulating and provides social interaction. She supported me through the events and the aftermath revolving around the _Narada_ and the destruction of Vulcan. In human terms, I regard her as a friend, an equal, perhaps the only one I have ever known in the entirety of my existence thus far. Her continued company is all I require from her.

That, however, is not enough for her. Over the past days, I have noticed her attempts to draw me into a deeper emotional attachment, and I have resisted. It is not something I can give.

The fact that she is not emotive does not mean that Nyota is not emotional. She is fully human, and her brain is not designed to completely suppress all emotion. Indeed, it would not be prudent for her to attempt such suppression. My father once attempted to guide my mother through a full Vulcan meditative cycle. She was never able to finish. Later she described it as "the feeling that all my emotions were rebelling against imprisonment. Humans just aren't meant to be Vulcan, I suppose," and smiled crookedly.

Nyota is fully human, and I am half Vulcan. By her calculations, it means an extended relationship between us, resulting in marriage, may be successful. She believes that I can meet her emotional needs when in truth, I cannot. I will not compromise myself.

I have lost much. The accumulated knowledge of Vulcan, the culture of our world, our ancestral lands, have all been lost. The degree to which our identity is entwined with our planet has been brutally revealed, for unlike Terrans, Vulcans never left our desert lands to colonize other planets. Displacement is a bitterly new concept for us.

My father remains. He is my living connection to a now dead planet. My mother is dead, the only deeply significant tie I had to the living water covered world. Nyota has encouraged me to consider Earth as my new home, but this is impossible.

Having lost so much, I will not give up the little that remains. Despite my mixed heritage, I have been raised in and fully adopted the practices of Surak. If I am to compromise myself in that too, what do I have left? Neither humans nor Vulcans have ever considered me to be one of their own. I have learned, over the years of this isolation, not to count the opinions of those around me, but to rely on myself. I have thought myself to be, I have always striven to be Vulcan. To be human is to be alien.

She does not understand this. This is the cause of the rift between us.

Should I lose her companionship, I will be acutely aware of her absence. It is better, however, to lose her than to lose myself.

The only logical course of action available is to terminate our courtship.

--

"_Heri kufa macho kuliko kufa moyo_. My mother always said that. I think I understand her meaning, now."

"Nyota—"

"Just, give me some time to myself. To adjust, get used to the idea."

"You are certain you are not offended or that I have not caused you undue injury?"

"No. I'm going to be honest and plain with you, because I've never lied to you before. This hurts. But you also have to understand that I'll be fine. Emotional backlash after breaking off a romantic relationship is normal for humans, and probably will be normal for you, too."

"You continue to operate under the assumption that my human half will someday 'burst free.'"

"I might not know Vulcans as well as I'd like, but I'm very familiar with humans. We don't like to be suppressed," she said with a wry smile, and then touched her hand to my face. "When that day comes, I'll be right beside you, to help you through it."

"Nyota, should such an episode occur, I do not anticipate changing my position concerning our relationship."

"You don't know me at all if you think that," she shook her head. "I meant as a friend."

It seems that I still wore a skeptical expression on my face.

"Spock, you might not believe me, but I really have accepted that things won't go anywhere between us. I just need some distance—emotional distance—to cement it."

"Is there a specific amount of time you require? Is 120 hours sufficient?"

"I don't know. You can't really put a time on these things. But I promise to let you know as soon as everything is done."

She neatly stepped in and closed the distance between us, wrapping her arms around me in a cool embrace. After a moment, she let go, gave me one last look, and walked away.

It is fortunate that I have not lost her friendship in the process of ending our romantic relationship. I have preserved my identity, thus accomplishing the objective of this entire ordeal. I still have lost something.


	9. Ch 9

It is just as I have suspected. The captain has been plotting.

"Spock! Just the person I was looking for."

"Indeed, captain?"

"Yup. I need some help with this drill I've been cooking up. And don't argue with me about this one, I'm going to do it," he smiled widely. "I just need you and a couple other of the officers to help me plan and coordinate."

"Exactly what are you planning on doing, captain," an edge of wariness crept into my voice.

"Running a bunch of emergency simulations, of course."

Of course.

The captain is obsessed with no-win situations. He has assigned each department head to create an emergency scenario according to the parameters he set forth, which in turn are based on historical accidents that incapacitated or resulted in the destruction of a starship. These simulations will be executed some time during the 57 hour voyage to Starbase 19.

The list is as follows:

Command

"I'll be on the bridge when all this shit goes down. We'll see how the officers react to it all."

"Captain, will these drills be scheduled to occur simultaneously?"

"Yup."

Dr. McCoy sputtered.

"Don't look at me like that, Spock."

Dr. McCoy still had not recovered his powers of speech.

"You are the captain of this ship."

"Damn straight. And you're going to help me pull this off," the captain pointed at me. "Brief Lt. Sulu and Lt. Chekov about all this later. I want them to help me monitor things and collect necessary data. The Russian whizkid should be able to come up with some crazy solution."

Security

"Chief Giotto, we're going to be doing some military maneuvers. The goal—control of the ship through auxiliary controls. I want three teams. We'll have the regular guard on duty, one team trying to infiltrate, and another responding to intruder alerts."

"Did you have anyone in mind for the attack team, sir?"

"No, I'll leave that up to you. They're the only ones that should be briefed that this is a drill."

"Understood, sir."

The captain suddenly grinned. "And afterwards, how about a game of capture the flag? Or ship-wide laser tag? Or maybe we could rig up some equipment and play paintball."

"I'm sure they would be up for it, sir."

"Paintball, Jim? _Paintball_? On a starship? Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

"It'd be fun, Bones."

"Shut up. Don't expect me to patch up your paint-splattered ass after you get smashed up by your own security guys."

Weapons systems

"Captain, you cannot seriously be suggesting that we alter with the weapons systems."

"Anything's game, Spock. The U.S.S. _Akhenaten_ lost half her crew to a weapons malfunction. That's not going to happen on my ship."

"I am familiar with the files of the U.S.S. _Akhenaten_, and the weapons systems it carried were technologically inferior to the systems on the _Enterprise_ in 67 aspects. The malfunctions of that ship were thoroughly studied and the weapons engineers at Starfleet have ensured that such an egregious error will not take place again."

"That's great, now I know those particular malfunctions won't happen. Doesn't mean that others won't."

"Captain—"

"Commander, I need my crew to be practiced and ready to handle anything. We might be going meeting up with some Romulans soon, if Starfleet has anything to say about it. This is important." The captain turned to his chief engineer. "Scotty?"

"Aye, captain?"

"I'm making this one up to you. Be creative, but don't get anyone killed. I'm not trying to test the phasers, just the crew."

"Aye, captain. I could modify some of the couplings so that it overheats. It's a simple malfunction, happens enough that the lads and ladies should know how t' handle it."

"And no dying."

"Well..."

"Scotty," the captain warned.

"I'll rig up a back-up safety, in case they don't fix it in time."

"Good."

Computer systems

"Captain, do you have any reason to believe that the computer systems of the _Enterprise_ will come under a malicious attack?"

"Everything has a weakness, Spock. I want you to find it, exploit it, hack in, plant a worm."

"I have personally seen to it that the computers on board are secure."

"And I have no doubt of that. Who better to take down security than the person who created it?"

"Since you are familiar with the infrastructure of my systems, having already successfully hacked the _Kobayashi Maru,_ perhaps it would be better if you engineered the attack, captain."

"What about you, what'll you do?"

"Maintain the integrity of my systems, of course."

The captain laughed.

"That sounds tempting, really it does, getting my ass handed to me by a computer genius while the rest of the ship is also falling to pieces. I'll pass on that offer. For now." He winked.

I believe the phrase is, 'when in Rome.'

"Do you also wish me to place safeguards, should the team be unsuccessful?"

"Of course. And make sure you back up our memory banks, and Uhura, send all the most recent information to Starfleet. I don't want to lose anything accidentally because of this."

Laboratory

"I was going to try and plan some kind of lab accident, like a fume hood failing or something catching on fire. But, I'm going to pass on this one. We need all that scientific equipment in there."

"Thank God for small mercies," Dr. McCoy muttered.

I found myself agreeing with the sentiment.

Sickbay

"No. There is no way I'm going to willingly infect anyone with anything."

"Hey, you had no problem sticking a hypo in my neck to get me on the _Enterprise_."

"That was because you would have found a way to get into space anyway, probably killed yourself in the process, and I wasn't going to let that happen. Hell, I think I should just sedate you right now instead, so we don't have to _think_ about this insane idea at all!"

"Okay, I'm getting really tired of all my officers opposing my ideas. I have a reason for wanting to do this Bones. No one is going to get killed, no one is getting permanently hurt—"

"Jim, you do _not_ treat people like they're some guinea pig in a giant experiment, which is how you're looking at this right now."

"Doctor, the captain has deemed these experiments as necessary. He requires data on the performance of your medical staff, and since the primary purpose of your department is to look after the health of the crewmembers, it is logical that a certain percentage of the crewmembers must be subjected to some stresses or illness, thus providing the appropriate material upon which your aides may work."

"Damn you, you green-blooded pointy-ear—"

"Bones," the captain said sharply.

The captain and the chief medical officer shared a look.

Dr. McCoy scowled. "You haven't heard the end of this, Jim."

The captain nodded. "I know."

Engineering

"Captain!" engineer Scott said, aghast. "Yeh can't ask me t' do that!"

"I love this ship as much as you do, and no, I'm not asking, I'm _ordering_ you to do this. I'm not messing with the shit that might actually blow us up or throw us into another dimension. Just the circuitry, Scotty, not the engines, not the antimatter pods, not the dilithium crystals. Enough havoc in the circuits to create some major confusion."

"You're bloody mad, that's what yeh are! I won't do it, sir, not to this silver lady."

"Lt. Scott, we are all agreed that this undertaking of the captain's is not entirely borne of a sane mind. However, his reasons for doing so are marginally sound, and the data obtained from these drills would be of great assistance in improving our efficiency. Moreover, the crew will learn that they must always be prepared, to 'expect the unexpected.'"

"Mr. Spock—!"

"Do it, Scotty. I need to see how your engineers handle things when you're not there."

Communications

"I want you to limit the communications scanning tools to some less modern stuff, or maybe just increase the noise to signal ratio. Make it harder for them to pick up signals, and test their ability to accurately decode and interpret the message. And Lt. Uhura, I swear, if you as so much say a word against—"

"Your plan sounds acceptable, captain."

"Wait, what? So you're okay with it?"

"Yes."

"You're screwing with me, aren't you."

"No. I've actually wanted to test the abilities of the other officers for a while now. I would have preferred to give them exams, but this is an tolerable substitute."

"Okay. Right. Then I guess Spock or Scotty can help you with setting it all up."

"I've got it under control. Sir."

Ship wide

"I'm going to throw in a wild card. It may or may not happen while everything else is going on. But just putting it out there, so be prepared for anything."

"Oh, and you have eight hours to get your shit together."

Given that this is James T. Kirk, "anything" literally signifies all possibilities. Unfortunately, I was unable to convince the captain to divulge further, so that our chances of emerging from the experience unscathed might be increased.

Why do I think that these drills will prove to be some of the less eventful happenings aboard this ship?


	10. Ch 10

Report

The following documents the events that proceeded on the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ during Captain James T. Kirk's simulation. The simulation was officially initiated at 1000 hours, and ended at 1434. Starting condition of the ship was normal, but there remain some minor malfunctions that must still be attended to. There are no deaths or severe injuries to report.

1000: One hour into Beta shift. Captain Kirk ordered Chief Medical Officer Dr. Leonard McCoy to infect ten members of the crew with Levodian flu. This particular disease was chosen because it is highly contagious but not dangerous. Its symptoms are similar to the common Terran flu virus, and the disease runs its course completely over a period of 29 hours. There is no cure for Levodian flu, but a vaccine can be developed according to the specific strain.

1200: Infected crewmembers began to show symptoms of Levodian flu. Three of those infected chose to report to Sickbay and found necessary replacements. The seven others decided to disregard their symptoms and continue working, facilitating in the spread of the disease throughout the ship.

1210: The captain initiated the security exercise.

1211: Other crewmembers not originally infected with Levodian flu show symptoms.

1221: Reports came in from security of a breach. Lt. Giotto dispatched three teams to neutralize the threat. The captain activated intruder alerts, Lt. Rairdon, the on-duty navigator, made a ship wide announcement notifying the crew of the presence of unidentified persons with malicious intent.

1225: The captain ordered Commander Spock to commence the computer simulation, Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott to commence engineering and weapons systems simulations, and Lt. Uhura to commence the communications simulation.

1226: The ship's lighting systems failed. This was one of the captain's 'wild cards,' or unexpected elements added to the overall simulation. The captain ordered emergency back-up to come online, but that also failed. Engineers were ordered to fix the problem immediately, but unexpected complications arose. Lt. Rairdon informed the crew of the malfunction and ordered use of standard issue NVGs.

1231: The engineering department's on duty senior officer reported a major circuit failure. Speed was reduced to sublight.

1233: Computer systems reported that the ship's computers had been compromised, and the scientists were investigating and attempting to patch the breach.

1238: Weapons systems reported a serious malfunction related to the ship's phasers, repairs were under way. At the same time, Nurse Chapel issued a warning to all crew members that any who felt ill should report to Sickbay, as the nurses suspected an outbreak of Levodian flu. Quarantine procedures were engaged for crew's quarters and recreational and dining facilities.

1239: The captain ordered all science personnel who were not infected or working to fix the computer systems to assist the Medical Department in quarantine procedures and to develop a vaccine against the flu. He ordered that the engineers first contain the damage on the circuits, then assist those repairing the phasers. All crew were to operate using NVGs.

1241: The communications department reported that sensors were offline and there was an incoming transmission from an unidentified source.

1242: The computer systems scientists reported that the virus was attacking the life systems programs and posed a serious threat to the safety of the ship. This was the captain's second 'wild card.' Orders were given to all communications officers with proficiency in computer or mathematical languages to assist the computer scientists. The captain then tried to contact the security guards at auxiliary control, presumably with the hope of taking manual control of life support systems.

1244: The security officers at auxiliary control sent a brief, frantic report that the intruders broke through their defenses and now had control of the ship. The captain gave command of the ship to Mr. Spock and left to attend to the security simulation.

1247: Security reported that the intruders at auxiliary control were holding the guards captive and were firmly entrenched in their position. Any attack would require cutting through the walls, which in turn would require experienced engineers. All engineers were occupied, but a team of three was dispatched to assist Lt. Giotto and the captain.

1251: Engineering reported that damages on circuits were extensive but temporarily contained, and that the maximum speed available Warp 2. Repairs on the phaser system were still underway. Two members of phaser crews were sent to Sickbay with second degree burns. Mr. Spock ordered the pilot to increase speed to Warp 1, then ordered Lt. Uhura to send a message to Starbase 19 that the _Enterprise_ would arrive on schedule.

1259: Sickbay reported that a simple vaccine based off previous Levodian flu vaccines was found and synthesized in the laboratories. Quarantine procedures on all decks were initiated and successfully proceeding.

1305: Mr. Spock decided to lend assistance to the computer teams. The new variant planted in the computer systems was not according to the design of his simulation, and he ascertained that it would inflict considerable damage to the ship's life systems if not defused.

--

"Isn't it weird to refer to yourself as Mr. Spock? I mean, what's the problem with writing in first person?"

At times it is difficult to ascertain whether the captain is being deliberately obtuse so as to find amusement in my reactions, or whether his unintelligent comments reveal an equally unintelligent thought process. These two options are not mutually exclusive.

"Your academic records indicate that you completed the course on technical writing, captain. If you recall--"

"I don't really remember it. But did you have to write down every single thing that happened? I was there, Spock. Just skip that shit and give me your analysis."

"You requested a formal report, sir. And while it is true that you were on board the ship for the duration of the simulation, you left the bridge at 1247. From that point forward, you cannot claim to know the exact sequence of events. In order to understand my recommendations, it is necessary to understand the context. Furthermore, presenting all the data allows you to implement your own analysis and perhaps consider other options I may have overlooked or failed to mention. Presentation of data is standard procedure among all scientists."

The captain gave no indication that he heard, let alone understood, anything that I said.

"What are all these graphs for?"

"If you read the entirety of the report, then the information presented in the graphs would be self evident."

"The analysis begins on page _seventeen_? What the hell did you write about—why is there an appendix?"

It appears that the captain was telling the truth when he said that he didn't remember any aspect related to technical writing. This also explains his stipulation to omit formal citations of each Starfleet protocol followed, or violated.

"Page seventeen," the captain stared at the datapad. "Oh. I get it."

"'Get' what, captain?"

"You're pissed off that I messed with your computer simulation."

"That is not relevant to the matter at hand."

"Sure it isn't," the captain smiled. "You're just mad that I was able to use the same trick twice, installing a subroutine that made your whole simulation reboot—"

"Vulcans do not 'get mad,' captain. Once again, you fail to understand that my actions are dictated by the requirements of my duties and my position as Starfleet officer and scientist, unlike the flagrant and meaningless liberties you take based on your compulsive need to rebel and affirm your sense of self worth. The report provided was not written based on my caprice, but what is expected according to Protocol 309-5 subsection C. If in the future you desire only analysis, then I request that you state your orders clearly such that ambiguity is not possible. Your ability to lead, such as it is, is undermined by your propensity to give unclear commands."

The captain's expression closed off. He then looked at me, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed.

"We keep missing each other," he said to no one, shaking his head. He then straightened and stood up from command chair. "Thank you for the analysis, Mr. Spock. Your report will be made available for all crewmembers." He made a motion to dismiss me. "Oh, and there's going to be a ship wide conference at 0900. We'll be at Starbase 19 in about 25 hours. I'm going to check on the repairs with Scotty. You have the conn."


	11. Ch 11

At times the captain looks at me with an inscrutable expression on his face. It is as though he is waiting for something. What he expects or anticipates is unknown to me. I hypothesize that it is in some way related to his contact with my alternate self.

My alternate self. In this universe, I am... unique in three ways. First and foremost has always been my mixed heritage. Second is due to the madman Nero—I am now part of an endangered species. Third, I have a living counterpart from an alternate universe. His life, his past, represents a vastly different trajectory. His choices were different from mine, his thoughts are not mine, his actions are his own. How is it possible, then that he and I would both choose a career in Starfleet? And though I have no evidence to support this suspicion, something, perhaps what humans call intuition, forces me to ask—what does James Tiberius Kirk have to do with our lives? What does he know? What does he want from me?

Fruitless questions which I will not ask. I perform all obligations accorded to my rank and office. I serve aboard this ship as a Vulcan and officer of the Federation's Starfleet.

Encountering my alternate self was a distasteful experience. I am forced to describe and judge the meeting in terms of emotions. At the time, I was still recovering from my extremely compromised state. Rage, green fury colors my memories of that time. Reflecting on the logic that led me to my decision to remain in Starfleet, I do not believe that it was sound. A large part of my rationale and the impetus that caused me to apply as First Officer on James Kirk's ship was a desire for revenge against Romulan. There was a desire in me to ensure that no similar attack ever be perpetrated against Vulcans again. On the colony, I would be able to do nothing to fulfill those goals.

Additionally, another emotion. It is not logical, but there was a desire for acceptance. Despite the tentative reconciliation between myself and my father, and despite the fact that I was instrumental in preserving the core of Vulcan's culture, Vulcans would never count me as their own. There has always been, and will always be, a separation, the veneer of recognition but an otherwise empty gesture. Among humans, it is the same. It is not a matter of what I do, but simply the fact of who I am, that is the cause. Ambassador Selek, in advising me to stay in Starfleet, seemed to hold out a promise, a hope for something I have long searched for, but have never found. In my emotionally compromised state, I made a decision based on his illusion.

It is likely that in his lifetime, he found such acceptance among Vulcans. Presumably Captain Kirk played some sort of role in bringing this about. The fallacy in Ambassador Selek's logic is that just as I am not him and he is not me, if an alternate James Kirk exists, the two are not—indeed, they cannot—be the same. In this timeline, the captain may not play any significant role at all except that of my commanding officer.

Regret is a useless emotion. Had I stayed on the colony and assisted in the efforts to build anew, I would not have been satisfied. Neither am I satisfied here. Vulcans seek to find their place in the world, their place in the community, in the family, in the bond between mates. Humans often prescribe to a different philosophy, that of creating one's own place.

For me, I am not sure that there ever was a place to be found or created.


	12. Ch 12

Since visiting Starbase 19 and receiving various orders, cargo, passengers, and supplies, the pace of life aboard the _Enterprise_ has markedly increased. Thanks to the high number of missions and ongoing repairs to be completed in the next 100 hours, the captain has assigned three teams to prepare exclusively for the assignments.

Red Team attends to all the needs of the Mediator. She is currently using the yeomen and ensigns to complete writing her briefs and do some final research on similar diplomatic negotiations and the cultures with which she will be working. Dr. Harroway has also been spending much of her time in the Mediator's quarters, discussing the diplomatic history of the Federation. I have reason to believe that they are also engaged in a romantic liaison.

Green team is assisting the passengers to the colony. The majority of the passengers are women who have chosen to marry settlers on Ophiucus III. Dr. McCoy has executed the final diagnostic tests to determine the physical, mental, and emotional health of the women. They have all been declared healthy. He also vaccinated the women and prepared them for the conditions they would face on the surface of the planet. Some of the passengers have expressed an interest in Dr. McCoy and the captain, but their advances have been ignored, for the most part. The captain was mildly flirtatious and he enjoys the attention, but he has not indulged himself with sexual intercourse.

Blue team was given the most labor intensive of the three tasks. They are responsible for the cargo that will be beamed down to Ophiucus III. They ensured that all supplies and luggage was decontaminated, sealed in the cargo holds, and undisturbed. Some of the boxes were scanned by security to ensure that everything was in order. They will also ensure the safe delivery and distribution of the supplies. Starfleet has been alerted to an increase in smuggler operations, as such supplies sell for a very high price on the black market.

As I am personally attending to the repairs in the computer system, the science department is focused on calibrating all instruments, setting up probes, and designing the necessary experiments for our exploration of the edge of our galaxy. The engineering department is still repairing the circuitry. Mr. Scott has taken this opportunity to implement some of his own design improvements. All weapons systems are online and in top working condition. The communications department also decided to install upgrades, some of which are experimental in nature. Lt. Uhura, however, finds the installations satisfactory.

The captain and I have maintained cordial relations. We have seen little of each other, relatively speaking, as I have spent most of my time in conferences with the scientists, running tests on our sensor systems, overhauling my original programming on the computers, and reading articles concerning the border of the galaxy. The majority of the articles are full of speculation. One paper suggested that there may be a phenomenon related to high esper ratings, but the suggestions were vague. All these theories will, however, be in the 700-word pre-mission report to the captain.

As is typical, the captain is rarely on the bridge when on duty. He frequents every department, easily inquiring after their activities and directly addressing any problems, complaints, concerns. He has also requested that I join him on these brief tours. At first I resisted the idea, as the prospect of wandering the ship halls did not appeal to me as an efficient use of my time. These twenty minute rounds have, however, proved useful.

The captain thinks aloud. While Vulcans process everything internally and silently, the captain vocalizes the half-thoughts in his mind to organize and clarify the chaos that apparently pervades the whole of his brain. He asks questions, blurts out sentence fragments, revises his statements in the middle of articulating them, and rephrases everything to parse into his own language. There is also the eloquent language of his body, the wide range of facial expressions that convey the emotions underlying the quasi-rational thoughts. It is a fascinating study. Moreover, the crew responds positively to him. The exact nature of the reactions is varied. Younger crew members tend to be more transparent, their emotions stronger, in their response to the captain's overtures. Older crew member are more reserved, but they still display a measure of genuine respect towards the captain. The reason why they have come to respect him so easily, or rather, how James T. Kirk won that respect, is unknown to me.

It occurred to me that those who serve aboard this ship are predisposed to respect the captain. If they could not respect him enough to work under him, they would have requested for a transfer to another starship. Though duty and tradition dictate that they give respect to any commanding officer, the expression behind their eyes speaks of admiration beyond the strictures of rank. What has he done to be so esteemed among the crew?

In the middle of these rounds, the captain often turns to me to elucidate or simplify matters he does not understand. He asks me as many questions as he asks those he has chosen to interrogate. This development is surprising as most humans have criticized my speech as robotic, overly technical, and convoluted. I have often been accused of complicating a subject matter and obfuscating meaning. One instructor at the Academy thought my language to be 'dehumanizing.' I assume that he meant that my speech is void of emotional words and phrases that humans value so highly. Correlating that evaluation with other assessments that my use of Federation Standard rendered all statements meaningless, I calculated that humans derive 74% of significance in their communications from the emotional terms that plague the Terran form of Federation Standard.

The captain seems to understand the precise meaning of almost everything I say. I had not thought this noteworthy before. Reflecting on our past conversations, there was certainly a period when he had to pause in order to process everything I said. The length of the pause has decreased linearly. Now, I hypothesize that my 'inhuman' use of the language actually helps him systematize his own thoughts more efficiently. Our misunderstandings are no longer rooted in semantics, but in the inherent differences between humans and Vulcans.

In some respects, the captain has an advantage over me. He may understand my meaning, but I am still far from understanding his. There is the basic problem of interpreting the captain's body language and emotional state. I find this to be much easier, however, than deciphering his actual statements. Understanding body language is a matter of observation and experience. Most importantly, it is much more consistent than spoken communication. I have learned that while Vulcans can control their bodies to the utmost degree yet cannot bear to lie, humans can lie easily but cannot control their bodies. What they seek to conceal is immediately revealed by their posture and motions. Some have demonstrated the ability to exercise a larger range of control in facial expression, but what the face does not betray, the rest of the body does.

Then there is the second problem, that of implication. During my study of the history Terran language, I found that human statements can take on many levels of meaning. Connotation and denotation play a large role in Terran literature, which in several points is similar to pre-Surakian literature. Terran poetry is saturated with images painted with intense, sensuous words. There is wordplay, sarcasm, intricate forms of humor. Fortunately, Nyota loves both wordplay and sarcasm. I have gained an appreciation for them, and have begun to tentatively experiment with introducing them into my own language.

--

"Bridge to Spock."

"Spock here."

"We're approaching the planet Vera. The captain requests your presence."

"Acknowledged. I will be there momentarily. Spock out."


	13. Ch 13

Dr. Dewayne Sievers, deceased.  
Lieutenant Chetha Petraglia, deceased.  
Lieutenant Lee Kelso, deceased.  
Ensign Budimir Sokolovich, deceased.  
Ensign Xochith I'bnouf, deceased.  
Ensign Shahida Durquella, deceased.  
Ensign Leon Afzal, deceased.  
Ensign Annette Van Tassmel, deceased.  
Ensign Hagar Gudaitis, deceased.  
Yeoman Randolph Pavetto, deceased.

"Captain's log, stardate 1313.8. Add to official losses, Dr. Elizabeth Dehner. Add notation—she gave her life in performance of her duty. Lieutenant Commander Gary Mitchell. Same notation."

--

"What's the point of talking about it, Bones? It's over. Done. File closed."

"I didn't know that you were a doctor, Jim," Dr. McCoy said pointedly.

"Okay, so shit happened on Delta Vega Prime. I must be allergic to planets named Delta Vega."

"Damnit Jim, stop acting stupid. I'm the Chief Medical Officer on this boat, and if you don't take this psychological evaluation, I'll declare you unfit for duty."

"Bones, there's nothing to evaluate! I've forgotten about half the stuff that went down on that planet anyway."

"Forget my ass. Twelve people died on this mission and it's eating away at you, I can see it clear as day."

"I have no idea what the fuck you're talking about. I knew when I took this job that people would die under my command. I wouldn't have accepted the captaincy if I couldn't handle shit like this. Or maybe I should remind you that a whole fucking planet imploded on itself and the majority of its population got sucked into a black hole the first time we did a mission in space?"

"You're trying to distract me and it's not going to work. Christ Jim, you marooned a crew member and it led to his death! Twelve people died on this mission! There's emotional backlash to that, no matter who you are—even that green blooded First Officer of yours would _feel_ something."

"I did feel something, but now it's over and done with, so let's just move on to the next mission—"

"I'm going to write that you have 'deep seated problems facing the emotional consequences of your actions' in your file if you don't come down to Sickbay and take the damn test."

"Fine."

"Damnit, Jim!" the doctor growled. "Spock, talk some sense into him."

"That may be impossible to accomplish, doctor."

Dr. McCoy glared.

"It seems that the captain has dealt with the emotional consequences, as you called them, of this mission already. He shows no sign of decreased performance on the bridge, and no symptoms of stress, guilt, or depression have manifested in the past 24 hours. I do not believe that a psychological test is necessary."

"See? Thank you, Commander."

"I should have known better than to ask _you_ to tell Jim to take a test that evaluates his emotions. He might not be showing any symptoms right now, but that doesn't mean they aren't there under the surface." The doctor turned his attention back to the captain.

"Bones, don't worry about me. Seriously. Thanks for the concern, but I don't regret my decision, and I did the right thing. If I didn't" the captain paused "leave Gary, he would have killed us. Faced with those choices, the rest was easy."

"Bullshit. You conveniently aren't mentioning that you were getting to know the man and become friends with him."

The captain seemed to become annoyed. Like Dr. McCoy, I recognized that he was concealing the full account of the events that transpired on the surface of the planet, but I understood his reticence to discuss his feelings. I have also encountered humans and Vulcans, who needled, bullied, and manipulated me to produce an emotional response.

"Doctor, has it not occurred to you that antagonizing the captain in this manner is counterproductive to the healing process that the human subconscious utilizes? Each human has his own methods of coping with the trauma he encounters. It appears that the captain's method is to classify such events as past, and concentrate on the present situations. The fact that he does not choose to employ traditional therapeutic measures does immediately imply that he will suffer from mental disorders."

Apparently, this was too much for Dr. McCoy.

"Jesus Christ, Spock, will you try for one minute to feel? At least _act_ like you've got a heart? Twelve people _died_!"

"Forcing the captain to take a psychology test does not change that fact. Doctor, you conduct yourself as though by completing this exam, the twelve men and women of the _Enterprise_ will be resurrected and all will return to its previous state."

"No, that's not what I think. Jim, you're not letting yourself mourn—"

"What good would it do, doctor? As I told you once before, crew morale will not be better served by the captain roaming the halls weeping."

The captain stood and put his hand on the doctor's shoulder.

"Bones, you're a doctor. You hate death. You hate standing around while men and women die and you're helpless to do anything about it. I'm, well, Starfleet made me a captain, and I accepted. I hate being helpless and crewmembers dying too, but it's better to lose twelve than the whole ship."

The look on the captain's face spoke of unspoken thoughts and a secret he was determined to keep to himself.

"Scotty?" the captain called.

"Aye, sir?"

"Do you have any of that whiskey left?"

"Just a spot left, yes captain."

"Well, then bring it," the doctor interjected.

The captain grinned. The doctor rolled his eyes and turned to leave.

"Mr. Spock, you have the conn."

--

I have reviewed the facts and all words spoken by the captain in an attempt to reconstruct the 34 minutes he spent alone on the planet Delta Vega Prime.

There is only one logical conclusion possible. The captain killed Lieutenant Commander Gary Mitchell and/or Dr. Elizabeth Dehner.

The means by which he was able to overpower them and terminate their lives is beyond the scope of my speculation.

The circumstances surrounding the killings are wholly understandable. The captain would not be faulted or brought on charges, as it was an act in the line of duty and self defense.

Why, then, does he choose to suppress the facts?

--

"Lt. Uhura," the captain frowned. He walked to her station.

"Sir."

The captain lowered his voice as he leaned down to speak to her. I moved closer to stay within hearing range, while maintaining the pretense that I was writing a report on the datapad.

"I thought I told you to take the next few shifts off."

"And why do you think I need to do that?" she asked, an edge in her voice.

"Dr. Dehner was your friend, right?"

"Yes. What does that have anything to do with—"

"I figured you might need some time to yourself. And, uh, to go through her personal effects. Everyone in the science department tells me that you two were close, and I'm sure she'd want you to do all that stuff..." the captain rambled.

Nyota regarded the captain thoughtfully, her expression colored with grief.

"You think you know a person," she said to herself.

The captain mistook her meaning.

"Hey, she didn't go batshit insane like Gary, okay? She held on to her humanity as long as she could and helped me out. If it weren't for her, I'd have died, and probably the rest of us, to be honest."

When he was met with silence, the captain seemed to scramble to find the appropriate words.

"I could, uh, see why you two got along so well. I mean, I tried to buy you a drink and you wouldn't even give me your first name. And landed me in Starfleet, of all places," he said, injecting humor into his voice. "Gary told me once how he tried flirting with her, but she just ignored him. He called her a 'walking freezer unit.' Well, you have more of an angrier, independent streak, which is still really hot."

Nyota had been listening to the captain with at skeptical expression on her face, and then laughed despite herself. The captain smiled widely at the sound.

"Come on. Send for a replacement and just take however much time you need. I can send Spock off duty if you want, too."

"Thanks." She added belatedly, "Sir."

"'Captain.' It's 'captain' to you, lieutenant," he joked.

Nyota gave a wry smile and commed for her replacement. She did not request my presence, and as soon as the replacement entered the bridge, she left swiftly.

The captain returned to the command chair, but not before giving me a look. It communicated the amused question "did you get everything, Spock?" Apparently, the captain was well aware that I was eavesdropping. I underestimated his powers of observation, among other things.

--

The data collected from the mission to the edge of the galaxy has proved to be intriguing and extremely valuable. As per usual, both the phenomenon experienced and the information obtained by the science department has raised more questions than it has answered. The most pressing question is whether the phenomenon localized to this particular segment of the galaxy's edge, or whether it occurs in all sectors. What is the scientific mechanism that propels it, why does it affect only those with high esper ratings? What are the implications for intergalactic travel? If it occurs at all parts of the border, is it possible that it acts as a defense mechanism?

Concerning the _Enterprise_, crew efficiency ratings have increased, and the death of the twelve crewmen have served to bring the surviving crew together closer. It is as though the disjoint parts are coalescing into a smooth whole. At the center of this newly forming accord is James T. Kirk.

During those 34 minutes, when I waited for the captain to return safely to the ship, I came to realization that I do not desire command of the _Enterprise_. The Silver Lady, as the captain and Mr. Scott have christened her, and her crew belong to one man. I simply fill a place among the crew, on board the ship, as Science Officer and First Officer. It is my duty to serve him to the best of my ability, follow his orders, challenge them when necessary, and ensure that he does not die.

The captain accurately pointed out that Dr. McCoy hates death. He made no similar pronouncement with regards to himself. That is not to say that the captain regards death lightly. I think he considers it an unavoidable risk, but not an absolute reality. Thus, he is able to fervently claim that no-win situations do not exist and at the same time defeat insurmountable odds by sheer force of will.

I once thought that the captain completely disregarded the odds that I often present him. This was mistaken. James T. Kirk is well aware of all the probabilities. While others choose to act cautiously in the faced with such numbers, the captain responds by 'upping the ante.'

He sought to explain this to me in his quarters shortly after he beamed up from Delta Vega Prime. I had been disputing the merits of his decisions.

"Captain, you beamed down to the planet well aware that both Dr. Dehner and Lieutenant Commander Mitchell were superior to you, with abilities against which you had no defense. I calculated that you had a 0.03% chance of survival, you were aware of this, and you endangered yourself in spite of this. What did you hope to accomplish?"

"Keeping us all alive. Which we are. I consider that a pretty big accomplishment."

"It was not necessary to beam down to confront them. The ship's weapons systems are more than capable of inflicting severe damage on the planet and Dr. Dehner and Mr. Mitchell."

"I thought I could buy us some time. Or maybe talk to Gary. Or Dr. Dehner. It doesn't really matter now. We're alive."

"Sir, Mr. Mitchell already exhibited signs of—"

"Spock, look," the captain said, scrubbing his hand against his face. "If universe decides to make the stakes as fucking high as she wants, then why not raise them higher, so that when I win, she has to pay through the nose?" he shrugged. "In the end, she'll clean me out. The universe a shitload of advantages. But I'll lie, cheat, steal, kill, do whatever the fuck it takes for as long as I can to make sure we come out on top at the end of the round. Or at least break even." He grinned crookedly.

"Comparing the universe to a Terran card game to support your decisions is a non sequitur, captain."

"Deal with it, 'cause that's the best you're going to get right now. I'm tired, I've been awake for the past 72 hours dealing with all this shit, and I sure as hell don't need you here second guessing everything I did."

The captain peeled off his ruined uniform and threw it into the waste chute. Scratches, lacerations, and bruises covered his body. He had at least two broken ribs and a broken collarbone. His shoulder also looked as though it had been dislocated and haphazardly forced back into place. He smiled, grimly this time.

"I gave Bones the slip. I'll go to Sickbay later. Keep him away, because I don't need him sticking hypos in my neck and yelling at me for risking my life again."

Again, I doubted the wisdom of this, but the captain was not in the mood to tolerate any further argument.

"If you require anything, captain, I will be on the bridge."

"Yeah."

He collapsed onto his bed as I exited his quarters. I entered a new sequence into his door lock to prevent Dr. McCoy from disturbing the captain's rest. As I stood at the door, my telepathic brushed against of traces of the captain's exhaustion and for a flicker of a moment, I felt the deep, yawning chasm of his grief.

When the captain reappeared on the bridge thirteen hours later, I detected nothing.


	14. Ch 14

"Nyota."

She stood before me, uncertainty and unhappiness evident in the lines of her body.

"Please, come in." I closed my computer terminal and moved to make some tea. "Would you like your usual blend?"

"Yes, that would be wonderful."

She sat down in her customary chair and relaxed. Nyota usually begins conversation between us, making some comment about her day or a particular thought that struck her. Today, she was silent. Her eyes were far away in the space of her thoughts and sorrow. She did not notice when I presented her with the tea.

"Nyota."

Humans have a great capacity to process emotion. At times, there can be too much to bear alone. I reached towards her.

That gesture was all she needed.

She leaned into my embrace and slipped her arms around my torso and began to cry.

Emotions flooded my awareness—sadness for her own loss, a desperate desire to make sense of the arbitrariness of Liz's death, pride that Liz didn't give in to the megalomania that took over Mitchell, grief for this new lacuna in the universe, anger against Starfleet for assigning the mission in the first place, understanding that this is truly what she signed up for when she took her commission, a struggle to accept all these facts, loneliness, gratitude towards James, a deep knowledge that this will pass.

_Baada ya dhiki faraja_, her mother whispered. After hardship comes relief.

Her sorrow ebbed away, leaving behind fatigue and weariness. For several minutes, Nyota remained in my arms, her thoughts beyond the reach of my telepathy.

Suddenly, she spoke.

"You asked me a few weeks ago what I thought of the captain."

A strange topic choice.

"It is not necessary for you to give me your opinion right at this moment, Nyota."

"I know," she nodded. "But I thought I might as well."

"Speak your mind, _rafiki_."

She released her embrace and moved back to her chair. Nyota gave a little laugh, and humans are wont to do after such emotional reactions. She wiped her eyes, blew her nose, and began to drink her cold tea. I moved to heat it for her again or make a new cup, but she motioned for me to stop.

She sat and sipped, again lost in thought. When the tea was gone, her emotions had settled back to cool stability. We remained silent, Nyota serene and myself carefully watching her. After a moment, Nyota moved towards the door to leave. I followed behind her.

She turned around abruptly and said, eyes bright, "_Jina jema hungara gizani_." Then she embraced me once more and whispered, "I've missed you."

"And I you," I replied with fierce honesty.

She let go and opened the door. "I'll see you later."

I nodded and watched her walk down the corridor to her own quarters.

_A good name shines in the dark._


	15. Ch 15

There is no need for the captain to run simulations of emergencies any longer.

Since our journey to the edge of the galaxy, practically every mission seems to involve some unforeseen variable that sets off a chain of events which in turn leads to some emergency or minor catastrophe on the ship, on the planet, to the general crew, to the command crew, to the away team, to the captain in particular, etc. If we continue at this rate, more anomalous incidents will have taken place on the _Enterprise_ than any other ship in the history of the Federation.

Some of these unanticipated occurrences were completely preventable. The outbreak of the mysterious disease contracted from the planet Psi 2000 could have been prevented by the application of strict decontamination procedures. Dr. McCoy argues that because the disease was caused by an unknown organism, it would not have been killed in any of the Starfleet decontamination levels. I am inclined to disagree.

The captain, for the most part, found the behaviors of the crew under the influence of the illness to be absolutely hilarious. Lt. Sulu revealed his submerged 'wild side,' brandishing his foil through the corridors and declaring himself to be honor-bound to protect "fair maidens," particularly Lt. Uhura.

Lt. Kevin Riley, who aspires to work on the bridge, demonstrated his subpar sonant abilities by forcing the entire ship to listen to his renditions of an Irish folk song, 'Kathleen.' At that point, the captain was less amused and more annoyed, and he was even less amused when he later found out that the imbecilic Irishman completely shut down the engines of the _Enterprise_ whilst Psi 2000 was in the final stages of disintegration.

Lt. Chekov decided that the best way to counter the serenades was to hack into the computer systems using a remote terminal and broadcast all four versions of the Russian national anthem into the intercom system at maximum volume. He then joined Engineer Scott in the transporter room. Mr. Scott decided his time was best put to use by replicating 535 corned beef sandwiches and transporting them to various points in space. Data extracted from the transporter computers indicates that he and Mr. Chekov transported all 535 sandwiches to the Inner Chamber of the Federation Council and the office of his former relativistic physics professor.

Nurse Chapel of the Medical Department took the opportunity to confess her hidden love for me and as a sign of her devotion, infected me. My control over my emotions absolutely collapsed, an experience I fear will become more and more common as our mission proceeds.

The captain was almost utterly debilitated by the disease.

He took over a conference room and proceeded to map the sequence of events that resulted in the destruction of the U.S.S. _Kelvin_. He frantically wrote systems of equations, computer codes for simulations, potential solutions, all possible contingencies, fragments of analysis—all towards the end of somehow preventing the death of his father.

The only redeeming aspects of that entire ordeal were discovering a method of time travel and Dr. McCoy's synthesis of the cure.

I had not though it possible for humans to descend further into madness and utter irrationality, but once again, I have been proven wrong. Perhaps it would be more efficient for me to assume that all previous knowledge that I have and theory that I've studied is false, and proceed illogically from there. That is how everything seems to work around the captain.

I will refine my control over my emotions. Nyota tells me that my exasperation is evident to all the crew.

The captain no longer needs to run emergency simulations, given all these entirely unpredictable episodes. This does not prevent the captain from running them on a regular basis.

I have worked in zero gravity, in low oxygen conditions, without the view screen, with 'damaged' sensors, with no light, in elevated temperatures, in lower temperatures, though planned epidemics, with minimal crew, with crewmembers working double shifts, as well as any combination of these conditions. I have fought for control of the ship from the bridge, from auxiliary control, from the engine room, from life support systems, and from outside the ship. The crew has been through every possible scenario that captain can think of, and a few that I have proposed. They are used to emergencies—it is the norm. Initially, when the red alert went off, the crew would rush to their assigned posts, mildly panicked. Now, they simply walk, increasing efficiency by 56%.

Today, the captain has made good on his promise to the Security Department to play paintball on the ship. The engineers and scientists created guns and pigment filled ammunition. All who wish to participate are welcome to join. I thought to take this opportunity, when the humans were preoccupied with aiming colorful pellets at one another, to complete some projects and do some reading. However, the captain has respectfully requested that I participate. He provided a facetious argument that I needed to learn to command men in a military setting.

I am of the opinion that he wants to see me covered in paint, my usual neat and pristine uniform covered with ridiculous colors such as bright pink and orange.

The scientists tell me that the paint is easily removable.

This provides no assurance whatsoever.


	16. Ch 16

"So. Our first diplomatic mission. What do I need to know?" the captain asked those gathered in the conference room. "Oh hey Bones, why are you here?"

"Chief Medical Officer. I have to be at all the conferences you hold."

"Really? Even the top secret ones?"

"If I know about them, yeah."

"Huh. That's good to know. Anyways, Uhura, skip the boring crap, what's the most important stuff I need to keep in mind?"

"Did you read the file, sir." By the tone of her voice, Nyota clearly expected him to answer—

"Nope. Didn't even bother to download it."

"Captain, the file contains vital information related to—"

"Did you see the size of that thing? 0.5 gigs! There's no way I'm wading through all that shit for one mission."

"It is fortunate, then, that Lt. Uhura and I have read the entirety of its contents. In the future, however, it would be prudent for you to assign a yeoman the responsibility of reading the file and highlighting the key points for your convenience."

"Noted. You still haven't told me what I need to know."

"Permission to speak, captain?"

"Granted, Dr. Jung. You're the anthropologist on board?"

"Correct, sir. I specialized in studying the development of humanoid societies. While I am not familiar with the population of Thyndus, the population of Saptien'orang'tan is of particular interest to me."

There was an awkward pause as Dr. Jung stopped his talk and shuffled his papers, while the captain waited for him to continue. The anthropologist fidgeted.

"Well man, go on!" Dr. McCoy prodded.

"Of c-c-course. Wh," Dr. Jung breathed in. "When the U.S.S. _Plymouth_ made First Contact with the humanoid life forms, they were surprised by the appearance of the inhabitants. After analysis of the DNA—"

"Spock, you've _got_ to teach your scientists how to do briefs—_briefs_, as in not a lecture of whatever field they specialize in."

Before I could respond, the captain addressed the abashed anthropologist. "Dr. Jung, as fascinating as all this probably is, I don't have time to listen to the history of social development on Planet Down There. Get to the point."

"I'm v-v-very sorry, s-s-ssir, of course I should have kept to the s-s-salient facts," Dr. Jung fumbled.

The captain sighed and massaged his temples.

"Nevermind, doctor. Proceed."

"Th-th-they found that the a-a-ancestors of the i-in-inhabitants ma-ma-may have shared a c-common ancestor with h-h-homo sapiens."

The captain looked at him blankly. Dr. McCoy chuckled.

"Jim, the Saptien-orange-things are apes. It's a planet of apes."

The captain's eyes widened. He struggled to control his reaction, as laughing at the physiology of an alien species, especially one as violent as the Orang'tuans, does not befit a captain.

"Right," the captain coughed. "A planet of apes. So, why do they need us?"

Nyota made a noise of irritation. As is her habit when she is supremely annoyed with the captain, she drew herself to her full height and used what she calls her 'Starfleet voice.'

"The Orang'tuans have been at war with the Lapthyans, the inhabitants of the planet Thyndus, for the past 48 years. Both planets have exhausted their resources and if the war continues, they will no longer be able to sustain their civilizations. Recognizing this, the two parties asked that Starfleet oversee diplomatic talks, which they hope will bring a permanent ceasefire and improved relations between the two planets."

"So if I screw this up, they'll keep fighting until both civilizations are dead?"

"Essentially, captain."

"No pressure, Jim."

"No shit," the captain mumbled.

"Why did they think this war would be a good idea in the first place?"

"The Orang'tuans and Lapthyans have been aware of the existence of the other for 841 years, since the invention of their respective telescopes. They have been in communication for 92 years, and achieved space-faring capabilities at approximately the same time, 50 years ago. Their cultures are so different, however, that in the history of their relations they have always been suspicious of the other's motives. Thus, as soon as they were able to launch battleships, they both attacked preemptively."

"You're telling me that they've been at each other's necks because of a giant cultural misunderstanding?"

"Wars've been fought for dumber reasons, Jim. Hell, Nero took out an entire planet because his wife died."

"That is an oversimplification, Dr. McCoy, as is your assessment, captain. The cultural misunderstandings play to instinctive fears that developed in the course of the evolution of each species."

"Okay, so we have a planet of apes, and the Lapthyans are a planet of what?"

"Insect based life forms."

"Gorillas and bugs."

"The physiology of the Lapthyans is in fact similar to the Terran dung beetle, or the Vulcan y'asvkat. Both planets are class M, but as Thyndus is closer to the two stars of this system, its temperatures are characterized by extremes and there is substantially less water. Saptien'orang'tan's conditions are exactly like that those of earth."

"Hold on a minute. Why did the Lap-thee-bees agree to having Jim negotiate? If I were one of those beetles, I'd be suspicious that he won't be fair, since humans and these Orange-tuns look alike and think alike, for all they know."

"Hey!" the captain protested.

"It is a valid concern, captain."

"Actually, it was the Lapthyans who specifically asked for the captain," Nyota said.

The captain, Dr. McCoy, and I all looked at her with varying degrees of surprise on our faces. Dr. Jung was still attempting to contain his nervousness.

"Why me?" "Why Jim?"

Nyota shrugged. "His reputation. Everyone's heard about the _Narada_, and the Lapthyans were impressed that the captain offered to help the Romulans before he sent them into the singularity. They calculate that if he can offer mercy to the same man responsible for the death of his father, he can be fair in these negotiations."

The captain looked shocked, and then turned bright red when he realized that everyone was looking at him speculatively.

"Well, uh," the captain straightened. "So what do I have to do to make sure they both survive and live together?"

"Starfleet sent orders at 1830 to proceed to the planet Thyndus, meet the diplomatic party, and engage in talks. Then we're to go on to Saptien'orang'tan. Basically you're supposed to act as a go-between, meeting with the parties and eventually getting terms of a treaty that both can agree to. In the meantime, Starfleet also wants the scientist to gather data on both cultures to update the files."

Dr. Jung visibly brightened at the prospect of directly observing the Orang'tuan culture.

The captain seemed to think this over.

"Have the Lapthyans and Orang'tuans ever had direct contact with each other?"

"No, captain."

"Even in this war? No prisoner exchanges, no capture, no interrogation?"

"If such contact has been made, neither side will admit to it. Both fear the contamination that might result from examining a specimen on their respective planets. They recognize the possible advantages, however, of obtaining information from a live prisoner, and for that purpose have set up detainment facilities in space. Officially, neither the Lapthyans nor the Orang'tuans have successfully captured a specimen of the other alive, as soldiers of both sides are ordered to kill themselves rather than surrender."

"Then they only know about each other from pictures, holo-vids, and corpses. And maybe some torture thrown in, just for kicks."

"Affirmative."

The captain hit the comm button.

"Kirk to Scotty."

"Scott here, captain. What can I do for yeh?"

"Can you beam aboard two parties from two planets onto this ship?"

"Yeh mean can I beam from Sep'thean and Thyndus onto the _Enterprise_? Sure. It'll take some tricky positioning, but I'll go see Chekov abo' that."

"Do it. Kirk out."

"What are you doing?" Nyota asked, arms crossed.

"Practicing diplomacy."

"These two species are extremely hostile towards each other. If they see each other, they might just pack their bags and continue the war!"

"That's the point."

"Sabotaging these talks is the point?"

"No, they have to see each other. This standoff they've got going is ridiculous, and whatever peace I might manage to pull out isn't going to last if they don't want to have anything to do with each other."

The protest was building in the room when the captain motioned for silence.

"Look, I know you all think this is insane, but this is how I'm going to do things. We're going to bring them to the table and they're going to have to talk face to face. I'll talk to them individually too, with the help of Lt. Uhura and Commander Spock, to make this process as smooth as possible. But they have to at least try to communicate, for real, if they want not just them, but their kids and grandkids and shit to live in peace too. This started with a huge misunderstanding. The only way to fix that is to make them understand."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Nyota sighed.

The captain grinned. "Yeah, me too."

"May I suggest, captain, that you forewarn the parties involved."

"Don't think so. Given what you've told me, they might decide not to come at all, or come armed to the teeth. I don't want the _Enterprise_ to get caught in the crossfire."

Dr. McCoy snorted. "That won't happen, with your luck."

"Hey, we'll deal with the fallout if it comes."

"Say Jim, since you're playing tea party with two hostile races, did you ever get around to getting your dress uniform tailored?"

"I have a dress uniform?"


	17. Ch 17

Some of the ideas of the captain are not without merit. The execution of his ideas has something to be desired.

The beginning of the captain's diplomatic talks was extremely trying for all parties involved. Apparently, both the Lapthyans and the Orang'tuans believed that the captain's youth and inexperience would make him amenable to their suggestions and susceptible to their manipulations. Needless to say, the captain did not appreciate this, and for some time regretted the necessity for this mission.

"They can go fucking explode, for all I care! I'm not a fucking tool!"

He decided in a moment anger to 'strong arm' both parties into cooperation. The captain did not reflect on such facts as: the Orang'tuans are twice his mass and on average one meter taller, the Lapthyan pincers secrete a substance fatal to all humanoid life forms, and both have developed advanced forms of man-to-man combat.

"You asked the Federation for peace talks, fine, but I decide how we're going to do this. I don't have the fucking time to dick around while you guys try to use me and my ship to advance your own fucking ends, so either you go back home and exterminate each other, which I have absolutely _no_ problem with, or you sit down and talk peace. What's it gonna to be."

It fell on myself and Nyota to negotiate between the Orang'tuans, Lapthyans, and the captain. Why the Orang'tuans and Lapthyans decided to submit to the judgment of the captain when he did not honor their requests, violated at least 38 cultural taboos, and had few actual advantages over them is unknown to me. That their violent whims were not inclined towards killing the captain was fortuitous and fortunate. After his outburst, he did make every effort to be courteous and respectful according to their cultural standards.

"You're welcome to join me and some of my senior officers for dinner at 2100. It's a social occasion, a chance to talk to my crew and take a break from all this diplomacy."

Both sides could not resist the opportunity to ask questions about Federation technology and the current political situation. The captain was asked to recount his experience in the events surrounding the _Narada_. He was distinctly reluctant to do so, but obliged them. Nyota fell into deep conversation with one of the Lapthyan representatives, discussing linguistics and the evolution of insect communication. She later told me that communicating by pincer movements is relatively new in their linguistic history. Among Lapthyans, they communicate primarily by their antennae. Dr. McCoy and a representative of the Orang'tuans, who was a trauma surgeon before he embarked on his political career, began by discussing various medical matters and in the process consumed several glasses of Saurian brandy. No Lapthyans and Orang'tuans voluntarily entered into dialog with each other. There was on heated argument—accusations were made, threats followed, but the captain neatly defused the situation by inaccurately recounting the story of joining Starfleet.

"Really, it's probably the best decision I'm ever going to make. And now I get to throw parties for exotic alien guests," he laughed, a vaguely sexual undercurrent in his tone. The fitted dress uniform accentuated his body.

Diplomatic talks continued for the following 144 hours. After each talk, the captain invited different personnel to join the dinner party. He used the humans as a buffer as well as a binding agent. By the end of the last dinner, some of the Lapthyans and Orang'tuans spoke on civil, if distant, terms.

"See? They're getting along already," the captain said to me. "I'm gonna count this one as a win."

For his first diplomatic mission, the captain exceeded expectations. However, he cannot hope to utilize these same methods for other missions. The gamble he took at the beginning could have failed spectacularly, resulting in two more dead worlds.


	18. Ch 18

Serving under Captain James Tiberius Kirk is like geometry without the parallel postulate, set theory without the axiom of choice: not standard according to the norms dictated by society at large, but fascinating in their own right, and equally valid ways to look at mathematics. I have not felt this way since I was introduced to the subject of topology or finally grasping the unification theory of general relativity and quantum mechanics.

In my experiences with humans, I find that most believe logic to be absolutely inflexible. Humans then use their basic deductive skills to conclude that I am likewise absolutely inflexible. Vulcans are renown throughout the Federation, if not the whole of the galaxy, for their logic, and since I am half Vulcan, I am a logical creature. Anything that pertains to logic must be rigid.

The only humans who do not share this prejudice are those who suffer the consequences of the same fallacies in reasoning. Mathematicians, theoretical physicists, computer scientists—among their own species, they are often treated as freaks. Their fellow humans regard them as unemotional and robotic, or otherwise emotionally immature and fundamentally unbalanced. In some cases, this is true. In most, however, it is not.

What most humans do not understand, and conversely what these people, particularly mathematicians, know intimately is that logic is lithe, supple, graceful. It is the axioms and definitions with which one chooses to begin that determine the rigidity of the structures. The theorems which follow from these choices are absolutely true within that framework. The proofs, the many paths of logic that one might take to reach those theorems are diverse.

Most think in one dimension. They only verity they comprehend is that theorems are 'absolutely true.' Mathematics becomes an exercise in fact memorization, that the sum of all angles in a triangle is always 180 degrees. They do not consider the framework that lies beneath. A triangle only has 180 degrees in standard planar space. In hyperbolic space, it has less than 180 degrees, and in elliptic space, greater.

That is not to say that Vulcans are without fault. Vulcans, in fearing their unstable and extremely emotional background, shun it completely. They believe that emotion is absolutely irrational, completely random and capricious. Logic is order, it is sanity, while emotion is simply anarchy. They make their own assumptions about my nature using similarly crude deduction, and conclude that my logical capabilities are at a disadvantage, corrupted by my mother's human blood.

Humans have devoted long years in an attempt to remove the mystery surrounding emotion and the subconscious. Some early expositions they wrote and believed are ludicrous. Years of increasingly meticulous and scientifically acceptable studies have made clear is that emotions are not completely irrational. They simply operate under another set of rules. For humans, these rules are rooted in the evolutionary path of the species.

Ancient Vulcans, even Surak must have had some intuitive appreciation of this. The Vulcan methods of emotional suppression were founded on the basic assumption that emotions are caused by various stimuli, and that similar stimuli produce comparable reactions. That in and of itself suggests a pattern, a rule.

Perhaps the fact that these patterns are different for each individual is what causes Vulcans to conclude that humans are totally illogical creatures. Yet Vulcans themselves cannot claim to be consistent within the species. If it were so, then there would be no such thing as individuality among Vulcans. We would not have personalities, we would not differentiate between one individual and another because it would be irrelevant. Each being would be the same. The Vulcan philosophy of "infinite diversity in infinite combinations" would be void of meaning.

Some humans have whispered that I have 'the personality of a cardboard box.' That is to say that I have no characteristics that distinguish me from others, aside from the obvious physiological traits. Some Vulcans, such as the head of the Vulcan Science Academy, have accused me of indulging in rebellious behavior. Aboard this ship, in the middle of space, I am free to define myself according to my will. I choose my axioms, both human and Vulcan, upon which I build my own mathematics.

The captain is not limited to a single set of axioms. Studying him and discovering the rules that govern him have yielded unforeseen results. Even more surprising are the opinions of the crew regarding him. Their admiration and respect has grown with every mission, but their perception of the captain as a member of their ranks is disappearing. He is the captain, friendly and open, but not a personal friend. He is unorthodox and sometimes strange. His brilliance borders on madness and his devotion borders on obsession.

He bends and breaks and believes the parallel postulate as he pleases, as it is useful, at his convenience. At his core, he burns with a drive to discover, push out into the dark of space, the thrill of the unknown, to live and thrive and fly and be free. To stand in the light and touch the darkness.


	19. Ch 19

"So? What did you think?" Nyota asked me. "Did you like it?"

"It is chaotic and dissonant."

"What? That's all you have to say about it? This movement completely revolutionized the way people thought about music, and you say that it's 'chaotic and dissonant'?!"

I gave her a sidelong glance.

"Oh," she slapped my arm playfully. "You're just teasing me. You liked it, admit it."

"On the contrary, my Vulcan intellect finds it somewhat distasteful, as the improvisational parts are subject to the impulses of the musician. But," I added quickly, before Nyota could assault me once more. "My human half finds jazz to be refreshingly creative and liberating."

Nyota let out an uncharacteristic squeal of delight.

"I knew you'd love it!"

"How does one go about learning to play jazz?"

"Practice. Lots of practice."

"Fascinating. You said earlier that these musicians are highly regarded on earth, and that their music is considered genius."

"That's because they _were_ geniuses. Jazz players know music like the language they speak. Classical musicians write prose, but jazz is poetry."

"Your preference evinces itself in your choice of metaphor."

"I've got nothing against classical. But jazz," she paused. "Jazz reaches down and grabs my soul."

She looked at me.

"Have you ever felt that?"


	20. Ch 20

"Sulu to bridge."

"Spock here, Lt. Sulu."

"Any possibility of getting us back aboard before the skiing season opens down here? Or find a long rope and lower us down a pot of hot coffee?"

"A shuttle team is on their way to retrieve you, Mr. Sulu."

"Just asking, Commander Spock."

"Keep us informed of your condition, lieutenant."

"Aye, sir. Sulu out."

--

"I told yeh sir, space has wee bit of a tendency t'get very strange around Jim Kirk."

"Mr. Scott, that does not explain how a transporter malfunction caused the captain to be split into two separate entities."

"Well, as far as I can figure it, it's caused by an actual substance. Something's gotten into the transporters and altered the normal function."

"Estimated time for repair, Mr. Scott?"

"I can't give yeh an accurate guess, Mr. Spock. I've got the lads working on it right now, but this stuff's managed t'get all over the insides."

"Scotty, how long until you fix the damn transporter?"

"Dr. McCoy, should you not be attending to the captain?"

"I sedated him. Both of them, it's easier that way. What I want to know is how the hell we're going to put them back together!"

"Yelling will not accomplish anything, doctor."

"Bridge to Commander Spock."

"Spock here."

"The shuttle team reports that they've successfully landed on the planet and retrieved all members of the Away team. Some are suffering from severe hypothermia."

"Damnit. How bad it is, Uhura?"

"I don't know, doctor. You'll have to see when they come aboard."

"Thank you, lieutenant, Spock out."

"Well, what're you standing there for? Use that Vulcan brain to fix Jim! My tricorder readings show that the longer the two are separate, the more they weaken, until they _both_ die. And I'll be damned before I let that happen while I'm the CMO on this ship."

With that, the doctor stormed out of the transporter room, comming the Sickbay to prepare for hypothermic patients.

--

"How might we differentiate between them?"

"Call me Jim."

"Hey, _I'm_ Jim. _I'm_ the captain of the _Enterprise_. You're just evil," the captain turned to myself and Dr. McCoy. "I don't want him back."

"That's good, 'cause I don't want you back either," Jim smirked. "You bent over and let Starfleet shove a stick up your asshole, becoming captain."

"Bones, make him," the captain breathed deeply. "Make him be quiet."

"Bones, make him be quiet," Jim mimicked in falsetto. "Wash out."

"Both of you shut up! My God, Jim, why'd you have to go and split yourself into equally annoying parts?! At least give one part of you some sense!"

"I'm the one who got all the fucking sense, McCoy. This pansy here wouldn't know how to order a coffee at a coffee shop to save his life. _I'm_ the one that got us this far, _I'm_ the one that got us the _Enterprise_, and I don't fucking need him for anything!" Jim said viciously. "He doesn't have the survival instincts of a retarded lemming."

"You're an animal, all instinct and no brains, completely vicious with no compassion. You're the one that makes us kill, cheat, lie, steal, rape, do everything that's disgusting and base just so we can live another day."

"That's the best you can come up with? That I'm an animal?" Jim laughed, the sound twisted. "Well fuck me, you can't complain. We're alive, thanks to me. Your brains aren't worth jackshit."

"We're alive, but there are some things you _never_ should have done. There are lines that no one should _ever_ cross."

"Aw, poor captain, so upset that I tried to fraternize with a crew member."

"You tried to rape her!"

"She was hot," Jim shrugged. A lecherous look flit across his face. "You like her. _We_ like her. You're just too scared to make a move, all that captainly responsibility and shit. So I figured that I would make the most of this opportunity, without you around to stop me."

Dr. McCoy gave Jim a hard look.

"What? Don't like what you see, doctor?" he asked, positioning his body just so.

"For once in your life, shut up. Neither of you're going to make it out of this alive without the other. You need each other not just mentally, but physically too."

"I'm not worried about that. The captain," he sneered at the word, "here might lose his will to live and slit his wrists over his guilty conscience, but I'm not about to die. You got any apples? I'm starving."

"No."

"That sucks. I'd kill someone for an apple."

"I'd kill _you_ if I could," the captain said quietly.

"Yeah, I know. But you won't. Because you don't have the balls to do anything."

"Captain, if I may inquire, how is it possible that your 'animal' counterpart has been able to develop to this degree?"

"Oh, Spock, so damn predictable. So, you think he's the _real_ Jim Kirk, huh?"

"There is no real James T. Kirk, just as there is no imposter. You are both part of the same individual. I chose to address the one who claims to be the captain, as you seem to have disdain for the position."

"Such eloquence," Jim said, coming towards me.

I took a step back.

"You know, I've always liked you," he said softly, a glint in his eye. "Green always turns me on."

"Spock, don't listen to him," the captain said.

"Oh no," Jim licked his lips. "Don't listen to me," he said, stepping towards me again.

Suddenly, at the edges of my telepathic awareness was the pull of Jim's emotion. _I understand you_ he called. _We're friends, aren't we Spock? Friends. I never meant anything I said about your mom. Never. I understand you I understand you. I'll complete you_ he kept saying. The pull was hypnotic as his words and emotions blended together and I found myself unable to move. He stepped closer, and _closer so close we could be so close come closer_.

Then the emotion abruptly turned, a howling ugliness emerged. The filth of uncontrolled rage lined with sadistic triumph jolted me back to awareness. Dr. McCoy had tackled Jim and they were struggling on the floor. Jim had the upper hand over the doctor, and he struck out with the intent to kill. I quickly used the nerve pinch, and the force of Jim's hatred spiked up my arm from the contact.

Dr. McCoy applied a strong sedative to Jim. I fought for control, to make my hands stop shaking. Filth, the stench of violation. I wanted desperately to leave the room and enter the deepest, purest meditative cycle and purge everything. James T. Kirk is capable of telepathic rape.

"That ought to keep him asleep for a good couple hours," he rasped out.

"Spock," the captain reached towards me.

Step back, step away, get away, out of range, out of reach. Stay where you are James T. Kirk.

He dropped his outstretched hand. A quiet wave of his emotion tentatively brushed against me. _I'm sorry_, he said.

The captain was silent, his eyes bleak and any remaining decisiveness draining from him.

"Damnit, Jim. Why's your alter-ego a completely crazy? You saw how he emotionally manipulated Spock, and I want some answers."

I willed my voice to stay even and neutral.

"Dr. McCoy, Machiavellian actions and words of the captain's other half points to an equally brutal past. While these exact incidents have not been recorded to happen, they confirm human psychological theories that the subconscious cultivates different parts of the personality according to the environment and circumstances. The fact that the captain, who is intellectual and prescribes to a higher moral standard, is associated with his post indicates that it has developed during his time at Starfleet."

"What? That's the dumbest idea I've ever heard come out of your mouth. Jim wasn't a psychotic killer before he enrolled in Starfleet, and he didn't develop a moral compass just because he became captain. By your logic, we should just put sociopaths on Constitution class starships to cure them!"

"Spock, Bones," the captain said, his voice soft. "Both of you are right, and both of you are wrong."

Dr. McCoy placed a hand on the captain's shoulder.

"Want to explain, Jim?" he asked gently.

"I can't," he looked at the doctor. "They're not just my secrets, they're his too. And as tough and cruel as he seems, it'd tear him apart if you knew. I can't do that to him," the captain said as he knelt down by his other half's beside, the expression on his face remarkably open and gentle.

"In a lot of ways, he's right. He's the one that's pulled us through the things we've been through. I don't want him back, but I need him to command this ship. He's selfish, violent, manipulative, but he's also decisive. He's done some terrible things, but," the captain brushed his hand across his counterpart's forehead, "he had to. There was no choice. I'm here to pay back, to make up for it.

"I'm not going to lie to either of you. You've both figured out by now that I didn't have the best childhood, dead father notwithstanding. Some days, things were just about survival. But now I have the _Enterprise_, I have the best crew in the galaxy, and I'm doing what I love.

"I'd kill him if I could, I hate the sight of him. I hate that I need him, and that he needs me."

I would kill him. His mocking face, the accusation _you never loved her bastard_ hatred exploiting every weakness and using it without remorse. I thought it an unfortunate circumstance and dismissed the attack as an outlier. It is necessary to correct my assumption. There is another side of James T. Kirk.

"Being split into two halves is no theory for me, captain. I have a Vulcan half, as well as an alien half, submerged, constantly at war with each other. I survive it because my intelligence prevails over both, makes them live together. So it must also be for you. You derive you ability to lead from your animalistic side. It is your negative side that makes you strong, your 'evil' side, if you will, properly controlled and disciplined, is vital to your strength."

The captain paled.

"Jim's strength isn't just from his animal side, Spock. He's got his own human strengths right here—intelligence, empathy, dignity."

I said nothing.

"Scott to Sickbay."

"Scotty, you better tell me that you have that damn contraption fixed or I swear I'll shoot you up with a cocktail so potent your fingers'll fall off in your sleep."

"Affirmative, Dr. McCoy," the engineer chuckled. "Everything's back in working order. All's we need is to test it out."

"We will be in the transporter room, Mr. Scott with the test specimen."

Dr. McCoy was already retrieving the cages of the two canines that had been split.

"Tighten the restraints on Jim, there, will ya Spock? I don't want him to wake up and wreak havoc wandering the halls while we're gone."

"Agreed, doctor."

--

"It's dead, Jim."

"So what're you gonna do about it?" Jim asked as he sauntered into the transporter room with a half eaten apple in hand.

Dr. McCoy gave a groan of frustration.

"Amazing, this guy actually managed to make a decision? But wouldn't it be immoral to do it without my consent? 'Cause I never agreed to getting back with him, especially not if I'm going to die because of it," he said with mock innocence. Jim took a bite out of his apple.

"The outcome of your fusion may not be the same as that of the test specimen. The canine's heart could not cope with the reintegration."

"May not? Want to quote some odds at me, Spock?"

"Let me get this into that thick head of yours, Jim. You aren't going to be able to keep living like this, got that? Your internal organs have been weakened and they're getting weaker with every minute. You want to survive? You have to take a risk and rejoin your other half," the doctor said, somewhat near the end of his tether. "Didn't really _think_ about that, did you?"

The realization and truth of Dr. McCoy's words seemed to sink into Jim. The fight or flight instinct took hold and he looked as though he was going to sprint out of the room and run from his reality.

"Bones, hold on," the captain said. He walked up to his other half, who regarded him with an expression of contempt and abject terror.

"I want to live," Jim said, his voice low, fearful and angry. "I got this far, I'm gonna keep living. You ain't gonna take that from me."

Jim's speech patterns were deteriorating, reverting to a lower, cruder form.

"No one's gonna kill me, 'cept myself. I won't let'em!"

"No one will. We'll live, both of us. Life with me is better than death, don't you think?" the captain asked. He held out a hand towards Jim.

"I want to live," Jim repeated. He grabbed the captain's hand and stepped onto the transporter pad. "I want to live."

The captain wrapped his arms around his other half, who clung to him fiercely.

"Energize," the captain ordered.

--

One body appeared on the transporter pad.

The captain stood before us, whole. He smiled, and then promptly collapsed.

"Jim!" Dr. McCoy rushed to him with his tricorder.

"M'ok, Bones. Just feel kinda dizzy," he said, putting his hands to his head.

The doctor paid him no heed as he simultaneously berated Mr. Scott for his "idiotic technology" and took tricorder readings and ordered me to "drag Jim's ass back to Sickbay."

Hearing that he was required to spend additional time under the good doctor's care, the captain immediately began to protest and insist that he felt fine, "it's just a headache, nothing that some fucking _sleep_ won't take care of—_don't_ stick that hypo in me Bones. Spock, you don't need to carry me, I can walk—"

"No you can't," Dr. McCoy said as he jabbed the captain with a hypo.

The captain fell asleep with an expression of protest on his face.

--

"McCoy to Spock."

"Spock here, doctor."

"Jim's fine. Everything checks out, thank God. Just thought you might like to know."

"When will he be fit for duty?"

"He needs a few good hours of sleep—wait. I know that tone. Okay, Spock, out with it. What is it?"

"Starfleet has ordered us on another diplomatic mission. We are expected to arrive at the Chronostic System in 20 hours. The captain will be expected to exchange greetings with the Gnotian nations."

Dr. McCoy began cursing Starfleet at the word "diplomatic."

"Doctor, when will—"

"I heard ya the first time. He'll be up and on his feet whenever you need him, Spock."

--

It is fortunate that the captain emerged from this unharmed.


	21. Ch 21

"Did something happen between you two?" Nyota asked abruptly.

We were reviewing some texts on Terran jazz music. I professed an interest in learning to play jazz music, so Nyota 'raided' the databases and brought a pile of datapads to my room. Most of the articles suggested mastery of classical forms of music, honing technical ability, listening to jazz music, and then simply practicing.

"To whom are you referring, Nyota?"

"You and the captain. Did something happen between you two?"

I had not told her of the actions of the captain's other half. Between me and the captain, we had not broached the subject at all. Dr. McCoy casually mentioned it once, to remind us that he had not forgotten, but neither of us responded to the comment.

"Nothing transpired. Why do you suspect it?"

Perhaps that came out a little too innocently. Nyota raised her eyebrows.

"He's been really... _nice_ to you is all. You've said some things on the bridge that from anyone else, would have been considered callous, but he just says 'thank you for your input, Mr. Spock' and leaves it at that. Usually he argues right back."

I gave her a sideways glance.

"What happened," Nyota crossed her arms.

"The captain was not himself. You cannot hold him completely responsible for his actions. I do not."

"Spock, just tell me and I'll decide whether I'll hold him accountable."

I had my doubts. Our command crew has become a unit, working together fluidly. I did not want to damage this newfound harmony by causing Nyota to revert to her former hostility towards the captain.

"Promise me first that you will continue performing admirably."

She frowned at my choice of words.

"Nyota, promise me that you will not be deliberately antagonistic towards the captain."

"Spock, you're scaring me—"

"I do not want this to cause discord or inefficiency."

"Fine, I promise that I'll try. That's the best I can give you."

I nodded. "It is sufficient."

Instead of starting my narrative, I stared at my hands.

"Spock?" she prompted softly. Nyota took a seat beside me, almost touching me.

I felt small ripples of worry, a desire to comfort, an underlying reassurance.

"I believe you were deep in REM sleep at this time. The ordeal took place during gamma shift when, due to a malfunction, the transporter materialized the captain in two versions. One, which I will refer to as the captain, was intelligent, compassionate, civilized, moral, but also indecisive. The other, which I will refer to as Jim, was cunning, vicious, cruel, selfish, and governed at his core by instinct.

"There was considerable confusion, since Jim materialized first and the captain shortly afterwards. Jim was shrewd enough to realize that he should act in the manner expected of him. Much, but not all, of his intuition is derived from his instinct, and so he was able to imitate the captain's normal behavior. I did not notice anything particularly out of order. When the transporter room notified us of the malfunction, he even made the decision to send down a shuttle crew to retrieve those stranded on the planet."

"Wait—if the other Kirk's the one who's compassionate, how did Jim care enough to be concerned about his crew?"

"The decision was not made out of consideration for the crew's lives. It was a calculated maneuver—he knew that Lt. Sulu is the best pilot on the _Enterprise_ and therefore useful to him. The others were of no consequence."

"How do you know this?"

"I have given the matter much thought. I was somewhat alarmed by the fact that Jim was able to perpetrate his charade for a prolonged period, and that I did not recognize that something was amiss. May I continue?"

She nodded.

"Dr. McCoy later told me that the captain immediately went to Sickbay, following standard protocol. They engaged in conversation. When the doctor questioned as to why he did not report to the bridge, the captain replied that 'Spock has it under control, or he'll comm me.' Dr. McCoy informed the captain that he needed to attend to some matters, so the captain left for his quarters.

"We may attribute Jim for the captain's restlessness. Shortly after the shuttle was deployed, he left the bridge and went to the Sickbay. There, he gained information that a counterpart existed as well as a flask of Saurian brandy. Jim went to Yeoman Rand's quarters. As far as we can reconstruct from the yeoman's accounts, he flirted with her, convinced her to imbibe a considerable amount of alcohol, then attempted to rape her in her inebriated state. Fortunately, she was cognizant enough to ask for help.

"The security videos show that when Ensign Fisher responded to Yeoman Rand's calls for help, Jim attacked him like a feral animal. I happened to on Deck E and used the nerve pinch to incapacitate Jim. From there, I took him and Yeoman Rand to Sickbay.

"Dr. McCoy was absent from the Sickbay when we arrived. After he finished his duties, he had gone to the captain's quarters, presumably to join him in relaxing and drinking some brandy. It was when we commed Dr. McCoy that we discovered that there were two versions of James T. Kirk."

"Spock," Nyota interrupted. "Most of this I already know. The captain briefed us on it, though not in quite this much detail. But I talked to Janice about it; I even helped her fill out her transfer forms and personally sent them to Starfleet. What did he do to _you_?"

I was silent before beginning.

"As a Vulcan, I have complete control over my body, the function of the internal organs, my thoughts. I do not have the same degree of control over my emotions, which is why it is better to suppress my emotion, rather than express it, as humans do.

"The captain does not control his emotions per se, but he has an amazing ability to direct them. This attribute was present in both the captain and Jim. However, they put that ability to widely different uses. The captain's manifested as empathy, mercy, and compassion. Jim used it to emotionally manipulate Yeoman Rand and camouflage his duplicitous nature.

"I experienced first-hand the extent of that duplicity. Jim was able—I do not know how—to project his emotions and make me feel what I had wanted to feel, what he wanted me to feel. He took advantage of my enhanced telepathic capabilities—again, I do not know how he did this—and one moment I was lured in by his promise of" _we could be so close_ "companionship and the next, he opened the gates to his wild anger and frenzied desire to consume life, to have absolute power over another."

My hands were shaking. Nyota made a movement to embrace me, but I hastily retreated from the contact.

"I do not blame him, and neither must you," I urged her. "I do not believe that James Kirk is aware of the extent of Jim's actions. I theorize that when the captain was split in two, more of his subconscious was able to surface and express itself. Now that he has been reintegrated, that knowledge has been submerged once more.

"However, as you noticed, he is making amends, even without knowing consciously why he is doing so and for what reason. I am satisfied with that. Besides," I said, before Nyota could protest. "I now have the rare opportunity to 'take him down a peg.'"

My attempt at humor was not well received.


	22. Ch 22

"Nyota—I mean—Lt. Uhura tells me you play chess."

I turned in my chair to face him.

"That is correct, captain. I am recognized by the Interplanetary Chess Association as a grandmaster."

The captain whistled. "Shit, that's good."

"You are familiar with the ranking system, captain? I was not aware that you played."

"I play a little. Me and my brother George played a bunch of 2-D chess when we were teenagers."

I looked at him skeptically. The captain shrugged.

"There's not that much to do out in the middle of cornfields in Iowa. Some of the farmers out there play a mean game."

"Then you are not familiar with 3-D chess?"

"I played some at the Academy. Actually," he smiled, "I did some chess boxing for a while."

"Chess boxing, sir?" I asked, unable to keep incredulity out of my voice. Taken literally, the concept of such a sport was ludicrous. I could see why it appealed to the captain.

"Yeah, five three minute rounds of boxing and six rounds of chess, I think. The six rounds make up a twelve minute game of speed chess, but there're some different versions. I think that's the standard—that's what I played anyway. You win by knockout, checkmate, or if the other guy runs out of time making his moves."

"An intriguing concept."

The captain grinned, as if he knew that I mean "ridiculous" rather the "intriguing."

"I won a couple games. I'm not a bad boxer—did Uhura ever tell you about that time?"

I nodded. Nyota immediately regaled me the story of James T. Kirk fighting four other Starfleet cadets when she returned to San Francisco. The captain blushed, then shrugged.

"Most of the rounds I won the chess game, not the boxing. Actually, I got knocked out a bunch of times," he unconsciously rubbed his jaw. Then, anticipating my question, he answered "we used 2-D chess. I did one match with the 3-D set and that was fucking _impossible_. It was just too complicated to do 3-D and go box. Head's too fuzzy."

"Was this sport practiced primarily among humans?"

"No, not really. I mean, I didn't see any Vulcans, they would've knocked everyone out _and_ checkmated them in like, four moves. Without breaking a sweat. But there were plenty of aliens that played." The captain winked. "C'mon, just ask me already. I know you want to."

He was correct. Despite the fact that I still found the idea of combining chess with the violent human sport of boxing to be peculiar, there is a distinct lack of proficient chess players aboard the _Enterprise._ One can only play against the computer so many times. Furthermore, the captain obviously developed an ability to assess the board, strategize, and execute his plan under severe time pressures. My own strength does not lie in blitz chess, but long games. It would be an interesting match.

"Very well. Captain, would you be interested in game of chess?"

"Why Spock, I thought you'd never ask," he grinned.


	23. Ch 23

"Ugh, Spock, that's sick. You couldn't have left that out of the report?" the captain grimaced.

"It is important and relevant information, captain. I would not have put it in the report if it were not so. I find this business to be as distasteful as you find it. However, it is my belief that to be forewarned is to be forearmed."

The captain looked as though he were going to vomit.

"What do these Krasata call-girls look like? No descriptions?" Dr. McCoy asked, a hard look in his eyes.

"There weren't any descriptions in the file we received," Nyota said, shaking her head. "We're not even sure if they have a gender, since they're always referred to as 'chimera' or 'creature' or 'Krasata.' The users probably aren't limited to one gender either. The scientist who created Krasata was female, after all."

"What do they want us to _do_?"

"Captain, I am not certain that the Vatikanurbo wants us to do anything. Our mission here is limited to approving the reforms in their legislation."

"But you said that this is probably the reason why they sent for us!"

"I speculated, somewhat baselessly. My hypothesis has not been confirmed."

"Fine, we don't know what they want from us. Better question—what _should_ we do?"

"Woah, Jim, hold on a minute. I hate to admit it, but we aren't in a position to do anything. They've got their own police working on the problem, making arrests, raiding the cloning labs. Unless you want to turn this mission into a search-and-destroy thing, not to mention getting tangled up in the politics of a planet ruled by a freaky religious order, you're better off just sticking to the Starfleet script."

"I concur with Dr. McCoy," I said.

Every person in the room turned to me with agape expressions. Lt. Chekov wore a sullen expression, while Lt. Sulu was beaming with triumph. It seems some wagers were made about this issue.

"Did you just agree with Bones? Did hell just freeze over?"

"The endothermic or exothermic nature of the mythical location of human torment known as 'hell' is not pertinent to the discussion of our mission, captain."

Nyota struggled to keep her expression neutral. Dr. McCoy sniggered. A wide grin lit up the captain's face.

"Anyway," he said with exaggerated nonchalance, "what I got from the reports is that you guys don't know a whole lot. So why not start out by politely asking the Vatikanurbo to send some information about themselves. Add in promises of not telling the Federation and all that, since they seem to be uptight about talking."

"Do you intend to uphold that promise?" I asked, skeptical.

"As long as they aren't hiding something like 'genocide Wednesdays' or something. Though, I guess if they did have 'genocide Wednesdays,' they wouldn't put it in the file to us anyway."

Dr. McCoy rolled his eyes. "You're worse than the boy genius."

"Actually, Lt. Uhura, can you manage to negotiate some shore leave for us?"

"I can try."

"Great, let me know. If they let us have some time on the planet, we can get our own info and check it against what they've given us."

"Captain, do you have any reason to doubt the verity of the files sent?"

"Not really. Just a feeling, mostly. Why should they be so secretive if they have nothing to hide?"

"The desire for privacy is not a crime. It does not imply hidden wrongdoing."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem if we promise not to tell. Don't jump the gun, Spock, they haven't even approved the shore leave request yet."

"Captain, I am not leaping over a firearm—"

"That's a colloquialism and you know it. Wait until the end of the mission to chew me out, is that too much to ask for?"

"If your ideas are unsound and result in your demise, there will be no part of you to 'chew out,' captain."

"Here they go again," Dr. McCoy said. "Are we done here, Jim? I've got some things to take care of, instead of watching you and Spock bicker like old ladies."

"What? We don't bicker—"

"I'm in Sickbay if you need me," the doctor answered.

The rest of the crew filed out to report to their respective posts as the captain protested that he had not dismissed the meeting.

"Boys," Nyota muttered as she left the conference room.

The captain and I were left in the conference room.

"This is all your fault, you know," the captain huffed.

"Captain, are you pouting?"


	24. Ch 24

"Chekov, how long until we get to Tsimtseng colony?"

"Three and one half days, keptan."

"Not good enough. Find a faster route."

"Sir?"

"What part of 'find a faster route' did you not understand?" the captain bit out.

"Yes sir, right away sir," Lt. Chekov scrambled.

The officers on the bridge looked around uncertainly. Since receiving orders for our last mission, the captain has been unusually impatient with himself and the crew.

"Find one yet lieutenant?" The captain stood over Lt. Chekov's station, his eyes trained on the stream of calculations.

"The computer hes given seweral alternate routes, but ETA is all in the same range, keptan."

"Keep looking. I don't care if we have to do something crazy, as long as we get there in time."

"Aye, sir."

"Scotty, how much power can you give me?"

"Captain, it is not advisable to overtax the warp engines. We are proceeding at Warp 6 and—"

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Spock. Scotty?"

"If I cut out emergency systems and reroute the power, I might b'able to give yeh a little boost. But I can't promise much."

"Do it."

"Hold it, Jim, just calm down—"

"Bones, leave it alone—"

"Then what's the damn rush for? We'll get to the colony in time, so will you stop and think about your orders for a minute—"

"I don't have _time_, so either get off my bridge or stay out of the way. Did you know that this epidemic has been going on for _weeks_, and if we don't get there, they'll run out of treatment? That they've been running low on doctors and there's not enough room in the hospitals to take care of all the sick? Do you know what that does to people?"

"Starfleet has allotted a sufficient amount of time before the colony will be in serious danger of—"

"_Do you know what that does to people_? Death by 'misallocation of resources.' Do you know what that does?" the captain's eyes blazed.

"Jim, what're you getting at here—"

"Don't expect to explain it to you," the captain said coldly.

"Keptan, I have laid in a new route. We will be needing Lt. Sulu to be flying because we will go wery wery close to clustered planets at Zetaphon-i. At Warp 6.8 we haf ETA in 71 hours. It is the wery best I am finding."

"ETA for Zetaphon-i?"

"16.7 hours, captain. Lt. Frankel will be helmsman at that time."

"Lt. Uhura, notify Lt. Sulu and Lt. Frankel of the changes. Bones, why're you still here. I'm beaming down you and all your staff to help the people down on Tsimtseng. You already have everything prepped?"

The doctor gave the captain a glare then left the bridge, cursing under his breath.

The atmosphere on the bridge remained tense as the captain alternately paced, stared moodily at the view screen, or sat in his command chair and watched the crew at their stations. His energy was like that of a caged animal, nervous and coiled. When he finally left the bridge, all the crewmembers wore relieved expressions.

"What's gotten into him?" Nyota asked Lt. Mahla beside her.

He shrugged, bewildered. "Beats me. Maybe someone spit in his soup for breakfast."

Similar speculations were being whispered around the bridge. I decided to put a stop to it and maintain the crew's focus.

"Whatever the captain's demeanor, he has made it clear that is of great importance to him that we arrive at Tsimtseng colony as early as possible. Our responsibility is not to wonder idly as to his reasons, but to maintain standard decorum and to ensure that his wishes are fulfilled."

The bridge personnel gave me sour looks, but the chatter ceased. The ship's surveillance systems revealed that the captain was at the gym engaged in an intense physical regimen. He remained there for 3.73 hours, then retired to his quarters and slept for five hours. After waking and attending to hygienic needs, he reported immediately to the bridge.

The exercise took most of the sharpness out of his manner, but the environment on the bridge still tensed immediately.

Over the course of our 71 hour journey to the colony, the captain slept a total of 13 hours. He consumed one protein pack, one energy bar, and sat down once to a ten minute meal at the insistence of Dr. McCoy. The captain worked through five different exercise routines and spent a total of 15 hours at the gym, despite his nonexistent calorie intake.

He has been driving Dr. McCoy to the end of his limited wits with his behavior. The captain refuses to acknowledge that there is anything wrong and rebuffs any of the doctor's or my attempts to discuss the matter.

The captain has become quite lean in the process of his slow self destruction. The bone structure of his face has become harshly defined and his body well toned. Dark shadows are beginning to appear under his eyes.

There is no logical reason for this. This man can kill his own crewman barehanded, plummet through the atmosphere to disengage a Romulan drill, fight hand-to-hand with a being three times his physical strength, even face the monster within himself with courage and daring that borders on impudence and stupidity, but he falls apart delivering medical supplies to a distressed colony.

The captain's files show nothing of his past that might elucidate me or Dr. McCoy. Indeed, his new file as a captain is much sparser than the file I received during his academic hearings. Several facts that might be considered common knowledge are absent, such as the location of his birth, his mother's name, and the _Kobayashi Maru_ academic hearings. There is mention of his brother, George Samuel Kirk, who is currently a scientist and lives on the planet Deneva. I do not know whether these omissions are deliberate or accidental. After the _Narada_ attacks, Starfleet hastily promoted several cadets and officers and was subsequently overwhelmed by the sheer amount of paperwork.

The captain's words and my own experience serving under him indicate that much more has taken place in his life than Starfleet is willing to disclose. He is, after all, a high profile public figure. All who desire, particularly the media, have access to his file. It is more probable that Starfleet generously edited the contents to present an ideal, untarnished image of James T. Kirk.

The obvious question is, then, where I might find the entirety of his files.


	25. Ch 25

It is fortunate that the captain reduced our travel time from 84 to 71 hours. In those 13 hours, the epidemic would have become a pandemic and led to the death of thousands of colonists.

The captain, however, never once has said "I told you so" to anyone. He is not one to give up an opportunity to be insufferably cheeky.

He spends most of his time planetside, doing what he can in assisting with quarantine procedures. For the most part, he does not deal with the ill, but with the healthy. The large numbers of infected have led to a breakdown in the work schedule and basic economy of the colony. Apparently, the captain has some experience with farming equipment.

In his spare time—the time he should be eating or sleeping—he visits the children's wing of the hospital and visits with them. His visits have become very popular, and the medical staff reports that it has positively impacted the children's recovery rates to be in the presence of a decorated Starfleet captain.

The remainder of the crew takes shifts between ship duties and assisting the colony. Dr. McCoy and his medical staff have been working without rest to eradicate the disease. The first few hours after we arrived at Tsingtseng, he did not know whether there was enough personnel and medicine to contain the disease. Now, seemingly by the force of will of the captain, it appears that the colony will fully recuperate from this.

The captain has left command of the ship to me. All systems are normal. Mr. Scott has rewired the emergency systems, and he is currently planetside, working with a biomedical engineer to fix some of the broken equipment at the hospital. Dr. McCoy has a standing order that anyone who should encounter the captain will sedate him and transport him to the _Enterprise_ brig, where he is to remain until he sleeps for a 10 hour cycle and/or eats 3000 calories.

Thus far, no one has been successful in capturing the captain.


	26. Ch 26

"Spock?" Nyota Kirk McCoy Scott Sulu Chekov Chapel M'Benga anonymous faces ask me. Concern in their eyes voice arm hand brow. Most reach awkwardly, unsure of what to say, apprehensive. Nyota embraces me, her body reverberating with the words "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

We operate by the Terran clock, the Terran calendar. Officially, the Federation's stardates are used, but all the timepieces on board convert the stardate to Earth dates. Six months. 182.625 days. 4383 hours. Strange how humans choose to mark the time. By the Vulcan calendar, this day has no meaning. By any other civilization's measure of time, this hour is like any other.

But to humans, this day has significance. Everyone goes about their duties subdued.

In our household when I grew up, our timepieces kept three sets of time: Standard Federation time, traditional Vulcan time, and Terran time for my mother. Specifically, the time in Toronto, Canada. Until I understood that she still followed the Terran clock, I was puzzled by the arbitrary dates of her celebrations. Her date of birth, for example, changed every year by the Vulcan calendar, and sometimes fell twice in the same year.

I found myself in a similar position when I relocated to Terra in order to obtain my Starfleet education. Nyota deemed it essential to celebrate my date of birth, and I, accustomed to time as regimented on Vulcan, had to calculate the Terran equivalent each year. I also learned that humans quickly become offended if one forgets their date of birth, no matter the differences in time units. To prevent another such misunderstanding, I deemed it prudent to convert my own thinking in terms of hours. Nyota's birthday comes every 8766 hours.

"Spock?"

"Yes, captain?"

"Nothing. Just, you've been sitting there, kind of zoning out."

Do not say it. I do not 'need time off.' That humans choose to become emotional over arbitrary units of time is another example of their unending sentimentality.

"I apologize for my inattentive manner."

_Is everything okay?_ his posture says. _You don't have to be here. Take a break_.

I simply raise my eyebrows when he continues to linger.

"Is there anything else you require, captain?"

"No. No, everything's going fine. A few more hours and we'll be right at the Klingons' back door. Maybe you should—"

"If there is nothing else, then I will return to my task at hand."

"Right. Okay. Oh, uh, there's a message from Starfleet for you. Don't know who it's from. Uhura forwarded it to your computer terminal in your quarters."

"Thank you captain, I will attend to it at the end of my shift."

--

To: Mr. S'chn T'gai Spock

The admirals and staff members at Starfleet Headquarters wish to convey their deepest condolences on this the six month anniversary of the destruction of Vulcan. Vulcan, as one of the founding members of the Federation, was a shining example to all planets. Its death rocked us all to the very core.

However, this devastating blow to the Vulcan people will soon be remembered as one of the many tragic events that litter the pages of history. We would like to offer you the opportunity to take an extended leave of absence to visit the Vulcan colony and commemorate the official induction of Vulcan II into the United Federation of Planets.

If you should desire to take advantage of this leave of absence, please send a transmission to the nearest Starbase and we will provide orders to Captain Kirk. Otherwise, we will assume that you choose to remain on duty aboard the U.S.S. _Enterprise_.

Respectfully yours,

Admiral Komack


	27. Ch 27

"So."

I raised my eyebrow at the captain.

"Don't give me that look," he chided. "Why aren't you going?"

"Going where, captain?"

That the captain could not contain his curiosity does not surprise me. I will simply have to heavily encrypt all messages that I wish to keep private.

"To that special ceremony they invited you to. I think you should go."

"How did you come across this information, captain." My tone was slightly accusing.

"Starfleet just called, asking whether 'Mr. Spock received the transmission regarding the induction of Vulcan II' and whether 'Mr. Spock would honor us with his presence.' I told them I'd talk to you about it."

I waited for 'the other shoe to drop.'

"And I looked at the message, fine. So, why aren't you going?"

"I have no desire to attend the ceremony. It is a planned Federation media event, a show of strength and vitality. My presence or absence makes no difference."

"It's a media event, but obviously your presence doesn't not make a difference. Starfleet really wants you to be there, or else they wouldn't have called _me_ about it. The ceremony's symbolic. You're symbolic. Everyone in the galaxy knows who you are, Spock, so you should go. Support Vulcan II and all. Maybe inspire some Vulcan kids to join Starfleet," the captain grinned. "Do Vulcans ask for autographs?"

"No, captain, Vulcans are not susceptible to the celebrity worship that I have observed among humans. As for supporting the Vulcan colony, I am in a better position to do so by remaining on the _Enterprise _and patrolling the Klingon Neutral Zone than gratifying any of Starfleet's cravings for symbolic displays."

"But chances are nothing's gonna happen. The Klingons are just sticking their noses out to get a feel for Federation strength, not planning an all out attack. I can survive being without you for a few days."

My face conveyed skepticism.

"Okay, maybe more like two days. Two and a half."

"I was not aware that you had a direct line of communications with the Klingon Empire, captain."

"It's called intuition."

"It is also not proven to be accurate."

The captain gave a small sigh. "I guess I won't change your mind," he paused. "What if Uhura went with you?"

I looked at him.

"I'll take that as a no."

"Your concern is appreciated, captain," I said, mildly surprised by my own sentiment.

The captain grinned. "You should at least send them a transmission or something. Telling them why. I mean, I don't think that Admiral Komack really expected you to blow off his invitation."

"A reasonable suggestion. I will send a transmission to Starfleet immediately."

For reasons unknown, the captain seemed extremely pleased by that statement. His grin became even brighter.


	28. Ch 28

While the captain's official Starfleet file is deficient in the information it provides, the captain's medical records are far more revealing. After a recent disastrous mission in which the captain ingested alien cuisine that was distinctly unsuitable for him, I was able to persuade Dr. McCoy to grant me access to his medical files. I argued that as the doctor rarely accompanies the captain on diplomatic missions while my presence is obligatory, it is logical that I be informed of all substances incompatible with his health systems. The doctor grudgingly acquiesced.

The captain has a remarkable ability to endanger his life in the most bizarre ways. Moreover, this skill seems to be something that he has devotedly cultivated since youth, perhaps even birth.

James T. Kirk was born 849.3 hours premature. In doing so, he decreased his chances of survival by 92% for three reasons.

First, though current medicine is extremely advanced, it relies heavily on technology and specialized equipment. That technology was not available to the medical personnel on the shuttle, and the notes in the captain's medical file indicate that there was some doubt as to whether the infant would survive the long flight in space. Most prominently, the infant's lungs were not fully developed and there was no ventilator on the small vessel. The nurse and the captain's mother were forced to improvise. James Kirk stopped breathing on 26 occasions. Somehow, he survived.

Second, the madman Nero was bent on destroying all escaped shuttles. The sacrifice made by George Kirk disabled the majority of the mining ship's capabilities, but the Romulan was not completely disarmed. I count it a stroke of fortune that the shuttle containing the captain and his mother were not destroyed, as 34% of the escape shuttles were either annihilated or suffered slow death from system failures.

Third, the shuttlecraft, especially the older models found aboard the _Kelvin_, were not designed for prolonged spaceflight. They have no warp capability and limited impulse power. There was no outpost or Starbase near the sector of space that the _Kelvin_ was investigating, the planets of the nearest solar system are not inhabitable by humanoids, and the nearest ship capable of rescuing the shuttles was approximately 165 hours away.

After our last chess game, the captain fondly recounted to me an incident that took place in his childhood. At the age of ten Terran years, the captain illegally obtained the keys to his stepfather's vehicle and proceeded to drive it off a quarry cliff, with himself inside. He described to me the 'incredible rush' he felt as he ejected himself from the car and 'clawed the dirt' to prevent from plunging to his death down the canyon wall.

His subsequent arrest and interrogation by the robotic police was not in the captain's file.

"What possessed you to begin to _contemplate_ such a course of action?"

The captain brushed off my question with a wave of his hand.

"I was bored. I was kind of wild and crazy when I was a kid. My stepfather was pissed off, and so was my mom, when she got back, but they couldn't really do anything about it. Then I loved the adrenaline rush so much that I started doing stupid stuff _all the time_," the captain smiled to himself. "Man those were some good times."

It is a wonder that the captain survived childhood. By the manner in which he alludes to his teenage years, time at Starfleet and the hospital visits logged in the file, I infer that such episodes continued and likely escalated in both number and danger.

His record does not improve upon reaching his adult years.

Excluding his feats during the _Narada_ incident, which were extremely perilous in their own right, our recent missions add more than a few compelling examples.

The captain has been bodily assaulted twice, telepathically disabled once, attacked by a wide assortment and/or combination of Federation and alien weaponry including phasers, ancient firearms, concealed knives, poison darts, rocks, a small nuclear missile, a gas grenade, and a laser mine. He has been kidnapped by alien technology and/or telekinetic beings once, trapped himself on a renegade penal ship, and much to the frustration of Dr. McCoy, has been infected and/or contaminated with seven varieties of potentially harmful bacteria, viruses from all seven terrestrial groups, viruses from 25 of the 36 alien groups, and miscellaneous foreign cell cultures. The captain has been trapped under a pile of rubble, caught in an electric storm, methane hurricane, and a sandstorm, stranded on an erupting planet, and concussed by debris floating in a flooded river.

Granted, not all of the items enumerated on this impressive list, accumulated over a period of 3768 hours, were truly life threatening. For example, for some unknown reason the captain had already received vaccinations for most rare and fatal bacterial and viral infections. His medical records indicate that he received these as a teenager at an undisclosed medical facility. However, the remaining entries of the macabre inventory did have the potential to end the captain's life and/or endanger the crew and this ship.

There is no sign that the rate of these occurrences will decrease. On the contrary, the data I have gathered warns that the rate will continue to increase until it plateaus at some unfathomably high figure. If this were any other individual, I would immediately recommend that Starfleet find some excuse to court martial the captain and relieve him of duty. As it is James T. Kirk, I am compelled to take as many precautions as possible and hope that his ability to "make the impossible possible" lasts the entirety of our service together.

When I expressed my concern over this issue, the captain half-nodded, as though he knew all these facts and had accepted them long ago.

"I kind of figure that I'm living on borrowed time anyway," he said.

"How so, captain?"

"I'm stealing from the universe," he shrugged. "Someday she'll find out and make me pay up. But right now, I'm enjoying the ride."


	29. Ch 29

An unknown entity has by unknown means removed Lt. Uhura and Captain Kirk from the _Enterprise_, likely to some equally unknown location. I was beginning the eighth phase of my meditative routine when Lt. Mmeril commed for both myself and Dr. McCoy.

"Commander Spock, we have an emergency situation."

I could hear Dr. McCoy cursing as he rode the turbolift. The man is exceptional vociferous.

"What happened?" he demanded as soon as the lift doors opened.

"I don't know, sir," Lt. Mmeril said, only mildly puzzled. It showed the extent to which the crew has become accustomed to strange things befalling the captain. "One minute he and Lt. Uhura were there, and then they were gone. It doesn't seem possible," but of course, it has happened several times before.

"We were going at Warp 3 to our next mission at the Xai System when our engines stopped responding. The _Enterprise_ dropped out of warp, and in the middle of it, the captain and the lieutenant disappeared," Helmsman Kemp added.

"I'm gonna kill that man when I get my hands on him," the doctor growled. He proceeded to compare space to "disease and danger" encased in "darkness and silence" and once again speculated about his own, the captain's, and the crew's mental health.

Dr. McCoy is prone to make hyperbolic statements and violent threats when he is worried or stressed, particularly when the captain is somehow involved.

"Lt. Vaubaunne, please put a diagram of the five solar systems nearest to our current position on the view screen. Ensign Ivanovsky, put in a ship wide announcement of this development and report to me immediately if any other individuals have been removed. Lt. Mmeril, notify Lt. Giotto and Lt. Sulu of this development and assemble a Type 1 rescue squad."

I made a note to myself to begin drafting a manual entitled, "Starfleet Protocol 274-B: Disappearance of personnel while traveling at warp speed. Execute the following procedure if the situation meets at least six of the following criterion..." It may be useful in the event that both the captain and I are abducted. Although, such seizures of persons may become so commonplace that those left in command may have no need for a manual. If that is the case, then I might put my time to better use, such as raveling the illogic puzzle that is Dr. Leonard McCoy.

Who, at the moment, was obstructing everyone's path to carrying out any duty at all.

"I'm going with them. Jim might be dying down there," he declared.

Of course the doctor assumes that the captain and Nyota are on a planet. Humans have a propensity to make judgments based on insufficient data. The doctor's ability to 'jump' to conclusions and place undue emphasis on his 'first impressions' of any situation is astounding, especially since his assessments are frequently erroneous.

"Doctor, there is no indicator that the two individuals are on a planet. Indeed, it is possible that the captain and the lieutenant have been transported to a location that does not support humanoid life."

Dr. McCoy sputtered.

"How the hell can you talk about Uhura and Jim that way?! They're your _friends_, but you, you're just as cool and logical and _inhuman_ as a goddamn iceberg, that Vulcan blood running through your green veins and—"

"Your comments have no relevance to the task at hand. If you cannot control yourself, I will ask you to remove yourself from this bridge."

Before the doctor had a chance to make some emotional and aggravating rebuttal, I turned to the view screen and addressed Lt. Vaubaunne. This did not prevent the doctor from making such a rebuttal.

"Control myself?! My best friend's disappeared while we're going at Warp 3 by some _thing_ out there and I'm supposed to act like not a damn thing's happened?!"

"Lieutenant, engage in wide sensor sweeps for any carbon based life forms. Ensign Ivanovsky, are there any other reported abductions?"

"No, sir."

"Maybe you can be all lizard blooded, but I don't stuff my emotions into a box. Jim' in danger and—"

"Doctor, we are well aware of the fact that the captain and Lt. Uhura are in danger. Remove yourself from the bridge, as your presence detracts from the efficiency of the other crew members. Ensign, please notify Dr. Calcuttawalla, Dr. Behling, and Dr. Delaquesta to report to the science department's sensor and probe facilities. They are to assist Lt. Vaubaunne's scans from the bridge."

"Like hell I'm going to get off this bridge!"

"Then cease your shouting or I will forcibly remove you. Starfleet Regulation 32.17 allows the acting captain to remove all disruptive persons from the bridge by those means authorized in subsection four."

Apparently, Dr. McCoy had to have the last word.

"Fine, but I'm going with you on the rescue team."

"We will discuss that matter at a future time." I hit the comm button. "Spock to Giotto."

"Giotto here."

"Is the rescue team ready?"

"Ready and waiting, sir. I assume you'll be joining us?"

"Affirmative. Please stand by for further orders."

"Aye sir. Giotto out."

"Scott to Commander Spock. Mr. Spock?"

"I assume there has been an engine malfunction, Mr. Scott?"

"You hit it right on th'head. Dropping right out of Warp 3 like that did a pretty number t'our engines, sir. There's been some damage to the dilithium crystals."

"How severe is the damage, and how much time before we are back to optimal performance?"

"I'm afraid I can't tell yeh yet, sir. The crystals, well, you know as well as me that once they're broken, nothing'll fix them. And the other damage, it'll be a good six hours before they're running back at normal."

I made another note to myself to request back-up dilithium crystals from Starfleet. As expensive and scarce as they are the normal operation of the _Enterprise_ seems to damage quite a few crystals. It is only sensible to keep three or four ready.

"Commander? The science department is waiting for orders on which system to begin scanning."

There was a staggering probability that Nyota and the captain were not in any environment that could sustain their lives. I quickly suppressed the dread I felt at that thought. If they were dead, there was nothing I or the doctor would be able to do about it. Our 'best bet,' as the captain likes to say, was to count on their being alive, and plan our actions accordingly.

Three of the five systems had no Class M planets or environments. One system had reports of two possible Class M planets, and another had a confirmed Class K planet, but no pressure domes had been constructed. As is often the case in these scenarios, I had to choose between one system or the other—their relative distances were such that scanning and searching on both was impossible.

The documented that reported the possibility of two Class M planets was written several Vulcan years ago, when scanning technology was much cruder and therefore imprecise. There was a high probability that no such planets existed. On the other hand, the only possibility that the captain and Nyota could survive on the Class K planet were if there were some previously unknown structures built, or if they were underground. No signs of civilization were reported, and alternatively if they were underground, we would not be able to detect their signals even with our most advanced sensor systems. It was an unenviable choice. I was rapidly getting used to making such choices.

"Mr. Scott, how much power do we have?"

"Maximum I can give you is Warp 2. I'm already working on rerouting the extra systems to give yeh a little extra boost."

"Noted. Lt. Kemp, lay in a course for the Atokthbue System at Warp 2—"

"What?! The Atokthbue System doesn't even have Class M planets—"

"—then increase speed as power becomes available. Mr. Ivanovsky, the scientists are to begin scans of the Class K planet as soon as we enter that system."

"Give me one good reason why you think that Jim and Uhura might be in that system when there's a hell of a bigger chance that if they're in that other system with two, count 'em, _two_ Class M planets—"

"They are to scrutinize the planet for any signs of civilizations, tunnels, or activity underground. Also, notify Dr. Rhee to engage high powered infrared scans of the area. Lt. Vaubaunne—"

"Damnit, Spock, listen to me. I'm asking you some damn important questions here, and you better have justification for these gambles you're taking—"

"—as soon as we enter that system, search for any signs of advanced life forms such as those we encountered on Assignment Charlie. Inform me also of any anomalies."

"Why the hell are we headed to Atokthbue?"

"Doctor, while the captain may tolerate your habit of brashly challenging his decisions, I will not. It is not within your right to hear the rationale behind my decision—"

"Scott here, Mr. Spock. I've got Warp 3."

"Lt. Kemp—"

"Already done, sir. ETA in 48 minutes."

"You're taking a mighty big risk doing this—"

"I am doing as the captain would do, Dr. McCoy. There is no time to analyze every possibility—if I did so, we would be paralyzed in a state of indecision. By all logic and by all probabilities that I have calculated, the captain and Nyota are already dead. However, I am taking a chance and betting, so to speak, that they are alive and not only that, but that they are in the Atokthbue system.

"Furthermore, you mistakenly believe that I conduct myself in this manner because I feel nothing. On the contrary, I have as much at stake as you, as Lt. Uhura was targeted as well. Nevertheless, I know and understand what is required of me as First Officer. Moaning the halls weeping will do nothing to resolve this situation. The better question is—do you know what is required by your own duty? Your conduct so far on this bridge suggests that you do not.

"Lastly, when the captain makes such decisions, you do not harangue him as you do me. I demand for the last time that you remove yourself from this bridge."

The doctor, red faced, stormed to the turbolift and left. I felt myself relieved. The presence of his strong emotion, which consisted of stress, anxiety, worry for the captain, and a considerable amount of anger directed at me was harmful to my focus. The fact that I had not completed my meditation exacerbated my own emotions.

I am familiar the idea of the captain being in danger. Nyota, however, is an utterly different matter.


	30. Ch 30

The infrared scans gave indications of some life forms under the surface of the planet. The readings were far from conclusive. Other scans revealed that power sources were scattered throughout the planet, indicating some civilization. The power sources were generating a strange shield, in which substances could be beamed down to the planet, but they could not be beamed back up. It was likely that the same was true for all forms of communication. We would be able to receive transmissions from the ship, but would not be able to report back.

I did not attempt to destroy the power sources with our phasers, as they might be connected to any life support systems under the planet. Meeting with the security team, it was clear that our mission was twofold: find the captain and Lt. Uhura and disable the shields. Lt. Sulu agreed to lead the team whose primary objective was to disable the shields. I would lead the team searching for the captain and Nyota. After a long and protracted argument, I agreed to allow Dr. McCoy to accompany us.

Mr. Scott had the conn. Lt. Chekov beamed down each team to the coordinates provided by the scientists.

We were greeted by an appalling sight.

Cages upon cages of alien species were lined neatly in rows, their eyes glazed as they were held in suspension by some telepathic power. Dr. McCoy cursed.

"Jesus Christ—some of these are stuffed!"

Indeed, an expert taxidermist had apparently gathered this collection for his pleasure.

My mind was racing, observing and analyzing everything as quickly as possible. The first was to assess whether we were in immediate danger of being killed or captured. I determined that we were not. Obviously, this being, or beings, either had superior technology or they had telekinetic and telepathic capabilities. I concluded that they relied on technology in order to produce the effects we observed, since beings with that order of telepathy would have already prevented our discovery of this place. We would have been fruitlessly searching on other planets or forced to forget the existence of the captain and Nyota. There was a possibility that this entire scene was a huge deception, or that the beings were watching us, but I could not let myself get fixated on those possibilities.

The second matter was to determine the location of the captain and Nyota. The precise ordering of the taxidermist's mind was immediately evident. The cages were ordered by the old Orion system of classifying live merchandise. That in turn led me to conjecture that the taxidermist was a former Orion slave trader, to have gathered so many specimens in one location. He likely bought and bartered for the technology to maintain these systems. The technology he used to subdue his live collection was not known to me. The machine, perhaps combined with a sedative or microchip, had some way of collectively controlling the minds of these specimens. I sensed that all of the minds here were connected like links in a chain. It was possible that if the mind of one was freed, then all were freed.

As we turned the corner, we came to the captain and Nyota's cage. Tubes protruded from their nostrils, mouth, chest, and stomach, attached to some machine that was keeping them alive. They were both a shade of Andorian blue. Dr. McCoy's tricorder readings indicated that the entirety of their blood had been removed and replaced with an oxygenated mucus-like substance, and without the machines, there was no chance of survival. The doctor apparently recognized this unique method of taxidermy, and confirmed that it was an Orion 'specialty.' When one security officer asked him how he came to know of such gruesome practices, the doctor replied that he took a class once entitled 'Morbid Medicine.' I did not ask how Orion taxidermy methods were in any way related to medicine.

Dr. McCoy immediately began to try and decipher the controls of the machinery and restore the captain and Nyota's blood.

Something caught my eye.

There were Vulcans. Two Vulcans, one male and one female, dressed in full Vulcan regalia. By the symbols embroidered in their clothing, they were of House Sket'rath. That line had been completely wiped out when Vulcan was destroyed. They were still alive, forced into deep unconsciousness. Much power is required to keep a Vulcan in a coma.

I ordered one of the officers to break into the cages and let out my breath when no security alarms seemed to go off. However, it would be too much to hope that whoever created this collection would not be notified of the breach. I had to work quickly.

Dr. McCoy, as usual, did not seem to understand the reasons for my actions, nor the concept of urgency.

"Spock," he hissed. "What the hell are you doing? Your duty is to Jim and Uhura first, not to those Vulcans!"

I did not reply but plunged into the male's mind.

It was not as I had thought. Freeing one mind would not free all the others. It was the reverse. Attacking one mind brought the force of all the other minds against me. I lost all awareness of Dr. McCoy and those around me as I fought to break through to the mind of Synor.

I do not know how much time passed, but I was successful. In the process of freeing him, my mind was subjected to the assault of all the others. If I thought that Jim committed telepathic rape, this was four hundred times worse. Yet Synor, having been under the control of the telepathic device for so long, could not risk facing it again. I requested that he act in my stead, however, and explain to Dr. McCoy my plan and order the men into their positions.

By the time I emerged from T'Pei's mind, I was sweating, hands shaking, and the captain and Nyota had enough blood to survive without the machines. That indicated to me that several minutes had passed. This in turn meant that we were closer and closer to being discovered. I was not sure, however, if the captain and Nyota would be somehow damaged if they left the confines of the establishment without breaking the telepathic control. One officer suggested that they find the device and turn it off, but T'Pei immediately eliminated that idea.

"If you turn off the machine, you will never get your captain back. When we are under its control, only the most basic part remains lodged in our own mindspace. The rest is scrambled in the machine and redirected. Thus, when Spock melded with one mind, all the other minds attacked him, under its direction."

The officers looked stricken.

I wanted to vomit. My body temperature was falling but sweat still streamed out of my skin.

Synor spoke. "Once the machine is off, the stolen parts are not restored. They are trapped inside it, and the body that is left behind has no will to live. All characteristics that made the individual unique, and not simply a member of a species, is lost."

Dr. McCoy gripped me and made me look into his eyes.

"Spock," he said firmly. "Get a hold of yourself. Use that damned Vulcan logic of yours to get back in control." He injected me with cordrazine. He motioned to the prone forms of Nyota and the captain. "They're counting on you."

"This may help you, Spock." T'Pei placed her fingers on the psi points connected to the sexual centers and used the female techniques to sooth males caught in the plak tow.

It helped, but did nothing to alleviate the feelings of shame and despair and _I will never be clean_.

Synor placed his thumb at the base of my jaw and middle finger at my temple. His other hand he placed over my heart. I was surprised that he knew the motion, the ancient warrior gesture used by comrades before battle.

"Courage," his voice resonated in my head. "Hurl down to the House of Death his katra."

I found Nyota first.

_Maneno mema hutowa nyoka pangoni__Adhabu ya kaburi aijua maiti__Dawa ya moto ni moto__Maji ya kifufu ni bahari ya chungu__Mchele moja mapishi mengi__Mfukuzwa kwao hana pakwenda__Kila mlango na ufunguwo wake__La kuvunda halina rubani__Mavi usioyala,wayawingiani kuku?__Msema pweke hakosi Kitanda usicho kilala hujui kunguni wake Mwacha asili ni mtumwa__Kipya kinyemi ingawa kidonda__Hapana marefu yasio na mwisho__Lila na fila hazitangamani__Mtoto akililia wembe mpe__Heri kufa macho kuliko kufa moyo__Kila ndege huruka na mbawa zake__Kupoteya njia ndiyo kujua njia_

A collection of Swahili proverbs passed down the generations, from mother to daughter. The essence of her being. _Pleasant words will draw __a__ snake from its hole_she laughs. _Why __chase the birds__ from the dung you do__n'__t eat__?_ Even in trapped in a machine, her mind resonates with the vibrance of her soul. _To get lost is to learn the way__._

Though I freed her, her subconscious immediately plunged her into a deep sleep. All her mind's resources went towards healing, piecing the fragments together, sewing up the wounds. Dr. McCoy reported that Nyota's eyelids fluttered and her tricorder scans registered her brainwaves as normal.

Then there was the captain. At it happened, this was exactly the moment the taxidermist decided to pay us a visit.

They came in the middle of my meld with the captain. I was not conscious during any part of this, and only saw it later through the generosity of Synor.

It was a husband and wife pair who were so dedicated to their hobby. An Orion male, former slave trader, obtained the specimens through his connections and technology, while his Terran wife practiced the actual taxidermy. Her techniques were of Terran and Orion origin. They had been building their collection for several Terran years, as well as selling specimens for the wealthy and demented.

When they saw me, they were delighted. The man had made several attempts to retrieve me, but for some unknown reason, his machine failed to 'snatch' me. I recalled later that I had been in the middle of my meditative cycle, and it is likely that it protected me from the device. For this former slave trader, seeing that I was 'delivered to his doorstep,' was apparently the greatest moment of his ghastly life, as Vulcan-human hybrids are notoriously rare. The look in his and the woman's eyes is something I am grateful I did not witness directly.

They attacked with psi-based weapons. The machine did not generate a telepathic field, but a concentrated beam, which proved to be its weakness. The security officers were able to dodge the beam and stun the man and woman with their phasers. At the same time, Lt. Sulu disabled the field blanketing the planet. The officer in command notified Lt. Sulu of the success of their mission while Dr. McCoy cursed at Mr. Scott to "get us the hell out of here."

Fortunately, T'Pei prevented myself and the captain from being beamed up. Transporting in the middle of a mind meld has never been done in the history of all Starfleet and Vulcan. Had I been conscious, I would not have been willing for the dubious honor of being the first.

I was able to retrieve the captain successfully. His mind, like Lt. Uhura's, immediately lapsed into a human form of a healing trance. I was not aware that the human subconscious had the capability to do such a thing.

Afterwards, I was utterly spent. Dr. McCoy told me that I collapsed on the transporter pad, and that I was unconscious far longer than the captain and Nyota. Dr. M'Benga has been seeing to the medical needs of T'Pei and Synor. They were abducted before the destruction of Vulcan, and learning of that news has caused them much grief.

The captain has offered to personally transport them the colony. They declined his offer. They will disembark on Starbase 5 and from there find their own way back to the colony.

I find myself longing to join them.


	31. Ch 31

"I think that's a great idea, Mr. Spock! Why didn't I think of it myself?" Engineer Scott smacked his forehead. "Now that you mention it, there are a couple o'parts that we're always frying or messing up in one way or another. I've got a whole grocer's list of things here I ought to request from Starfleet, not just dilithium crystals."

The datapad revealed a list of no less than 151 items.

"Mr. Scott, you are well aware that there is limited space on the ship to store these materials."

"It's fine. I'll just stick a bunch in my quarters. I used to fall asleep doing inventory back on Delta Vega, so it'll be like a touch of home. And I'm sure some of the lads'll volunteer some space."

"Are you also aware that officers' quarters are a great deal larger than crewmembers? It is one of the privileges of rank."

"Of course I know that, Mr. Spock! What do yeh take me for? I know this ship like th'back of my own hand, thank you sir. Nope, if the boys have some room for moonshine, they have room for a reverse-flow catalyzer."

The engineer got a mischievous look on his face.

"Do yeh think Starfleet'll notice if I slip in a couple o'neat little extras? We've got some projects going around—"

"No."

"Oh, come on, Mr. Spock. There's no harm done. I won't be askin' the lovely admirals ta give me some antimatter pods."

"Absolutely out of the question, Mr. Scott."

"Well, no harm in tryin'. I suppose I'll just ask the captain about it," the engineer put in slyly.

There was no doubt in my mind how to captain would answer.

"Great idea, Scotty, why didn't I think of it before?"

"Actually, it was Mr. Spock who thought of it originally, then I figured we might as well load up on all the little bits and pieces we needed."

"Hold on, do we really need fourteen extra phaser cartridges?"

"No sir," Mr. Scott answered unabashedly. "But it would come in very handy with some of our projects."

The captain raised his eyebrows. Mr. Scott quickly began explaining himself, assuring the captain along the lines of

"None of these projects are goin' to endanger the crew or this Silver Lady, you have my promise on that, Jim."

I suspect it was Mr. Scott addressing the captain as "Jim" that did it. Suddenly, the discussion was not between captain and lieutenant commander, but between friends. Somehow that made things much more reasonable in the captain's eyes.

"Captain, I would like it to be recorded that I am opposed to this course of action. Taking advantage of Starfleet's resources, especially at a time when those resources are spread thin and sorely needed, is unethical."

The captain wavered. Both Mr. Scott and I saw this. Mr. Scott, however, has always been a fast thinker.

"That's true, captain, but it's also our duty 'to boldly go where no man has gone before.' That includes various stunts of engineer, not just exploring these stars and planets here. Besides, we've discovered quite a few handy little things that've already improved her performance."

Serving on the _Enterprise_, I have learned to 'spot a lost battle.' This was one such lost battle.

"Alright, Scotty. Just put whatever you need in the inventory requests and I'll approve it. We'll pick up the stuff on Starbase 5."

"That's more like it! Say captain, would yeh care for a bit of scotch? I've got a fine bottle I've been saving for something like this—"

The captain laughed. "Not now. How about after you've sorted through and unpacked everything. Me and Bones'll join you in your quarters, if there's any room."

"We could always use the rec room—"

"No. There's no way you're turning the rec room into a new storage area. I'd have a mutiny on my hands, and half the crew'd want your head stuck on a pole or something."

The chief engineer chuckled at that.

"Keep me posted on those projects. And don't have too much fun."

"Aye, sir," he replied, entering the turbolift.

"And don't destroy my ship."

"Wouldn't dream of it, captain."


	32. Ch 32

Darkness.

_I'm too late. He's not here. They've taken him._

Then.

Inhale.

Throat caught but—

Soaring in midair, falling and falling as the ground spins under his feet but he doesn't see that. He sees the blue sky and imagines he can see space beyond it.

Weightless.

The world is wonderful.

For less than two seconds and then his bones crunch and skin tears and he's grabbing at dirt and sand and air and

Shit shit shit

_Jim baby breathe breathe baby don't you dare don't you dare_

_RUN run fuck RUN they're here get out run run_

And he wills himself to _stay alive_

Pull himself up by wriggling and stretching and pulling and kicking

_Motherfucker that hurt. Fuck._

_Jim, you're awake. How do you feel?_

Inhale.

_ow_

"Halt, citizen" in a thousand different voices, cold and mechanical and so this is what death sounds like

_to be terminated should be locked up delinquent can't put up with it anymore worthless can't breathe nowhere to go can't breathe_

no one's gonna kill me 'cept myself. i've _earned_ that fucking right

The car hits the quarry walls and squeals and crashes and metal crushed and parts falling off and glass breaking. In the back of his mind he's calculating how long it would take him to reach the bottom before

"What is your name?"

_was considered to be a great man. but that was another life_

what are we going to call him?

_how did you find me?_

we could name him after your father

_i have been, and always shall be, your friend_

tiberius? are you kidding me?

_you coming back and changing history. that's cheating_

let's name him after your dad

_a trick i learned from an old friend_

let's call him Jim.

He knew it as something of a suicide mission when he took it, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to free fall from a fucking shuttle.

Pulls himself up, elbows knocking and knees wobbly. Covered in dust.

Inhale.

That was _awesome_.

A sliver of temptation to do what Olsen did and delay delay just keep falling

space a different kind of cold beauty and the faint glow of distant galaxies and pulsars and clouds of supernova debris and facing down a fucking black hole in that chair and finally feeling

_three more Klingon warbirds decloaking locking. i don't suppose this is a problem either_

born in a lightning storm in space, who gets to brag about _that_?

_well, should we—oh, i dunno—fire back? i may throw up on ya._

this is where I belong.

I sure hope you know what you're doing, captain. He laughs at himself.

_See? We are getting to know each other_.

Then silence. The best kind.

After the blood and panic pounding in his ears has subsided and the quiet hours listening to vastness outside the shuttle and taking comfort in the low hum of the machines and his mother's heartbeat. Mealtimes, when everyone is eating and he slips away to the astro observatory to see

the sky.

Inhale.

Piercing blinding

My name is James Tiberius Kirk.

Light streams through the darkness.


	33. Ch 33

"Bones just gets stressed out when shit happens to me. I mean, his best idea to get me on the _Enterprise_ was to jab me with a hypospray ten thousand times." The captain rolled his eyes.

"Be that as it may—"

"C'mon, Spock. He's human—we all deal with emergencies differently. You go all rigid and logical—"

"Captain, I am always logical."

"Yeah, well, when shit hits the fan, it's like you've replaced your brain with a whole bunch of quantum quad processors," he grinned. "No one does parallel computing better than you, Spock."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Anyway, Bones panics sometimes. He's already terrified of space—"

"Then perhaps he should have chosen a more suitable location to practice his profession."

"He's not going anywhere, so you guys'll have to learn to like each other." The captain was running out of patience. "I wouldn't even think of going into space without Bones not because he's my best friend, which he is and you just have to accept that, but because he's a fucking medical genius. I'd be dead a billion times over if it weren't for him and you know it. So get used to his freak outs and irrationality and rampant emotionalism. You're both part of my command crew and I won't have it any other way."

"Is that an order, captain."

"Does it have to be? Damnit, why can't you—and Bones for that matter—see that I need both of you," the captain said, frustration mounting. "Is it that hard for you to for once _get over yourselves_ and _try_ to, I don't know, make my life a little easier? It's always 'captain, Dr. McCoy is acting shit illogical' or 'Jim, Spock's a hobgoblin who can't feel,'" he said in a peculiar falsetto.

"If I may speak, captain—"

"What now?? I'm not a fucking ping pong ball."

I raised my eyebrow. "Indeed, you are not a hollow orb used for the sport of table tennis."

The captain snorted. "Damn straight," he mumbled.

"Have you finished your outpouring of frustration?"

"Hey, don't you do that to me too—"

"I do not know to what you are referring, captain."

"That 'don't be such an infantile idiot, Jim' tone. I get enough of that from Bones. And you already filet me open every time we argue with that whole 'I can run circles around your brain so fast you're already so dizzy you're about to hurl.' Ugh."

The best course of action when the captain, or any human for that matter, is agitated to the point they are speaking unqualified nonsense is simply to leave. If they are able to recover their rational faculties at a later time, one may choose to resume communication with them.

If the captain were not the captain, I'm not certain that I would take the trouble to do so.

"Hey, where're you going? It was just getting fun!"

As Dr. McCoy says, 'unbelievable.'


	34. Ch 34

"I love you."

I stiffened. Nyota's hand was on mine, but her feelings were not broadcasting human romantic love. I could not identify the type of affection she held for me.

"Please clarify."

"I'm an only child too, you know. In Kenya it's a rare thing, to have only one child. It's something of an unspoken tradition to have many children, a holdover from the days when most infants died of disease or hunger. I grew up around families of four, five children, and wondered why I had no brothers and sisters. Later my mother and father told me the lengths they had to go through just to get me. Fertility clinics, surrogate mothers, stillborn children, artificial insemination. They tried everything. When they finally had me, _u__cheshi wa mtoto ni anga Ia nyumba_, they said. The laughter of a child lights up the house."

Memories from our meld rose to the forefront of my consciousness.

"They loved me. I went to the best schools in Mombasa, ate the best food, wore the best clothes. I wanted for nothing, except a sibling. A brother or a sister. My parents, however, weren't willing to go through the heartache of trying for another child. I had playmates—some of my best childhood friends are in Kenya.

"But as we got older, we became different. My father was given a post in Wajir, so we left the wet southern coast and moved to the dry aridity of the north. My friends looked to the ground, to politics, agriculture, mining, and I think I would have followed if we stayed in Mombasa. In Wajir, I looked to the stars.

"My schoolmates there made fun of my Coastal speech and my water fat flesh. They had their own dialect mixed with Somali and Arabic. I don't remember ever working as hard as that time when I got rid of my accent and learned their mongrel language. And I ran. I ran at dawn and dusk, thousands of meters across the wide plain to make myself lean and limber, like them. They never really accepted me, though.

"So I chased the Milky Way instead. I talked to the stars and imagined I could hear their replies. That's how I got into Starfleet—I got myself recruited by them as a distance runner on their track team. I won a fair number of interplanetary competitions, too. But it wasn't the same as back in Kenya. The stars were replaced by hundreds of megawatt light bulbs. That's what I missed the most when I was at Starfleet. Seeing the spread of the galaxy over my head," she said, eyes distant. Then she looked at me and gave a smile. "Here, I miss being able to run a straight path, the dry earth under my feet. Treadmills aren't really the same thing either.

"I signed up for your class on a whim, you know. I had no idea that it would change my life. When I told people I was taking Xenolinguistics, they shuddered. You had—probably still have—quite a reputation.

"But your first lecture was like a whole world opening up to me. I _could_ speak to the stars, I just had to learn the language. Before that, I thought maybe I would try to enter the pilot program. I didn't really know what I was planning on doing with my career at Starfleet, except that I wanted to be out there, not stuck down here.

"I worked so hard to impress you. Don't give me that look, you know that half the girls—and guys—at the Academy fantasized about you, they were just intimidated out of their minds by the fact that you're half Vulcan."

Knowledge that I have always found to be somewhat... disquieting.

"When I think back to my first assignments and oral exams, I cringe. They were horrible! I expected you to fail me, but you showed unexpected kindness."

"Actually, I did nothing of the sort. I simply recognized your raw talent and sought to encourage you to continue in the field. The tests I created were purposely difficult, far beyond the ability of any competent first year student. Yet you consistently scored well beyond the highest scores I have ever had in my time teaching that class. Your own merit brought you your deserved recognition."

"But you helped me whenever I had a question. You never thought of anything as too small or too stupid—"

"Nyota, your questions were always extremely intelligent. If you recall, there were some that I did not have the answer."

"There were?"

"Yes. Seventeen, in fact."

"Which ones were they? I don't remember this."

"Some were related to Deltan languages. You raised some questions concerning the morphology of their verbs, specifically gerunds, that I had never considered."

"I asked seventeen questions about the morphology of Deltan gerunds?"

"No, you asked three questions. The others were scattered among Orion, with which you had considerable difficulty, signal transmissions, subspace transmissions, Romulan, the Terran language of Vietnamese, xenocultural studies, and one about ancient Vulcan poetry."

"What was the one about Vulcan poetry?"

"There was a line of a poem we were translating: 'My t'hy'la is to me as a cluster of camphire in the vineyards of Engedi.' I could not find a suitable translation for _t'hy'la_."

"Anyway, you were the first one who _saw_ me, not a gangly girl sprinting through the tall grass, but me. It's a powerful thing to be seen for what you are, and accepted. I mean, really, it's no wonder that I fell in love with you," she joked.

"Yet right now you do not feel romantic love towards me. I am not certain that I fully comprehend it."

"My mother had a saying that _d__amu nzito kuliko maji_, that blood is thicker than water. But not all families are born together," Nyota took my hand. She leaned into me. "I thought I was going to be in that machine forever, trapped in a sea of alien sounds I couldn't decipher, couldn't understand. But you found me. I watched them attack you—_I_ attacked you—and you still came and got me."

_What are you doing here? Go back, go back, or you'll be trapped here too! _Kidole kimoja hakivunji chawa. _One finger cannot kill a louse._

_It is fortunate, then, that this machine is not a louse and that my mind is much more capable than one finger. Nyota, come with me._

_Go back, Spock, go back. I can see what we're doing to you. Go back before it's too late._

_It is already too late. I will not leave you. You will leave with me, or I will not leave at all, ndugu._

"I might have lost a lover," she smiled, "but I gained a brother. That's how I love you, _ndugu_."


	35. Ch 35

Life aboard the _Enterprise_ has resumed its normal pace. The Taxidermy Mission, as the crew refers to it, was the last time the captain had a 94% chance of dying. All other missions, the percentage has averaged at a 'comfortable' 42%.

Dr. McCoy and I have been avoiding each other. I am under the impression that the captain delivered the same rant to the doctor, and we have an unspoken agreement that for the sake of our sanity, we should minimize all contact. This situation is satisfactory for me, though the captain is aggravated by the fact that he can never 'get us in the same room.'

He will have to 'deal,' as he says.

Nyota has been spending more time with Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott. She has taken an interest in Scottish history, and Mr. Scott is more than happy to make exaggerated statements of the injustices suffered by the Scottish at the hands of the English and the Highland spirit and recount the ferocity of ancient Scottish warriors.

"Actually, there's an excellent old 2-D film about William Wallace, I think they might have it somewhere in those fogy Starfleet media files. It was made by some American, but it's still quite good. You can come too, Mr. Spock," the engineer chirped happily.

Mr. Scott and Nyota enjoyed the film. I was of a divergent opinion.

"The broad liberties he took with historical accuracy of the event surrounding the First War of Scottish Independence and the misinterpretations of various historical figures are troubling. Did pre-Warp humans usually embellish their histories to this degree?"

I was understandably apprehensive that all my knowledge of Terran history was skewed by rampant and arbitrary human bias. Nyota quickly assured me that this was not so, that human historians take their craft very seriously and "hate it when anyone sacrifices historical accuracy at their own convenience."

"Yeh're takin' it too seriously, Mr. Spock."

After watching the vids, Mr. Scott's accent thickened considerably. Lt. Sulu and Lt. Chekov joined Mr. Scott and Nyota shortly after the film with alcoholic beverages and the file of a popular 3-D science fiction serial. I excused myself and retired to my quarters, before Lt. Chekov's and Mr. Scott's accents became totally incomprehensible. Nyota tried to persuade me to stay, but she already knew my distaste for such social gatherings.

All in all, I find that life aboard the _Enterprise_ is agreeable.

"Spock, where are you?"

"I am in my quarters, captain."

"I'm bored. Wanna try and beat me at chess?"

"Is that a challenge, captain?"

"You bet your ass it's a challenge, Mr. Spock."

"Then I accept. I also remind you that—"

"Yak yak yak. Just meet me at my quarters and put your money where your mouth is. Kirk out."

Life aboard the _Enterprise_ will be considerably more acceptable after the captain's ego has been deflated.


	36. Ch 36

The captain has decided to divert our course three light years to orbit Planet Q. Dr. Tiffany Leighton sent a transmission to the captain informing him that she had discovered a new synthetic food that would 'revolutionize all food shortage problems.' Her phrasing has something to be desired, but Dr. Leighton is a respectable empirical research scientist. The work she produces is steady, reputable, and occasionally brilliant. Nonetheless, I was suspicious of her message. If she had indeed found the 'miracle cure' to the Federation's supply problems, why should she notify the captain and request him to visit the planet, rather than submit her results for review and publication in a scientific journal?

As it turned out, there was no breakthrough in synthetic food technology. Dr. Leighton, by all appearances, asked the captain to assist her in settling a personal score with one actor named Anton Karidian. The captain has suddenly become extremely moody and tense, but he will disclose nothing to both myself and Dr. McCoy. We are still in orbit above Planet Q. The captain is on the planet attending a cocktail party held at Dr. Leighton's abode.

Before beaming down to the planet, the captain locked himself in his quarters for several hours. Computer logs indicate that he accessed several 'Top Secret' files and studied them thoroughly. For the past two hours, I have been employed in the highly illegal activity of breaking through Federation security to obtain the contents of those files. Dr. McCoy, as is his habit, has been nagging me incessantly as to whether I have access to the files yet.

"I want some answers, Spock."

"It is likely that these files will provide them, but as I have yet to breach their security and decode the encryption, kindly step away and allow me to do my job. I cannot devote all my mental energies to the problem, Dr. McCoy, when you are literally breathing down my neck."

The Federation, it appears, has more than a few 'skeletons in its closet.'

In 2246, the Terran Colony Tarsus IV suffered a major shortage in food supplies. The inclement weather caused a crop failure, and by some bureaucratic mistake the urgent request sent by the colony council was not processed for several weeks. During this time, one of the provincial governors of the colony Kodos seized control. His criminal profile reveals that he prescribed to some outdated eugenics theories, and decided to implement those theories in his government. Shortly after he came to power, he ordered the execution of half the colony's population.

The choice was made with great consideration. Kodos personally chose every person to be executed using his criteria. This is evident by the photographs Federation investigators took of his office. All six walls are covered with paper, the majority of which were printed with genome maps, brain scans, and bio readings of the colonists. Several of the papers have annotations by Kodos. Starfleet reports that of the 8503 colonists, 4251 individual marked for execution, 4242 individuals were executed, and 9 escaped the slaughter. Among those who survived are James T. Kirk, Tiffany P. Leighton, Kevin W. Riley, Jorge M. de los Reyes, Eleanor V. Molson, Kumar R. Aggarwal, Rossana K. Baca, Mohammad J. Khaffaji, and Annika L. Kilchenmann.

A brief glance at the list of the dead revealed that the entirety of Dr. Leighton's family was killed, as was Lt. Riley's. The captain's mother, Winona R. Lawrence-Kirk and his stepfather, Mark T. Lawrence, were also killed.

"Damn damn damn damn _damn_." The doctor punched a wall.

The doctor and I did not have time to discuss our findings.

"Transporter room to Commander Spock."

"Spock here."

"The captain has beamed back on the ship. He's carrying Dr. Leighton—"

"Spock?! Find Bones. Tiffany's dying."

The doctor immediately rushed out. I caught up with him.

"Doctor—"

"Get out of my way, Spock."

"I am not hindering your movement. Doctor, it is imperative that the captain does not know that we are fully informed of his involvement in Tarsus IV—"

"Why the hell not?! I've got a thing or two to say to that kid—"

"There must have been a reason that he did not choose to inform us. We have not looked at all the files the captain perused, and we have not formed a plan of action. It is absolutely necessary to deceive the captain in this matter."

"What else do I need to know, Spock? I think I know everything I need—"

We arrived at Sickbay. The doctor and I had not reached an agreement, but the captain was already there, anxiously standing at Dr. Leigton's side.

Dr. McCoy flung himself into action. The captain remained silent, his eyes haggard.

"Spock, get Jim out of here."

The captain began to protest.

"There's nothing you can do, and you're getting in the way. It's an order!" he barked.

I escorted the captain out. He was radiating guilt, fear, desperation, helplessness _I'm not going back there_. The captain shut his eyes and for a moment, the voice of his stepfather rang clear _RUN Jim run fuck RUN they're here get out run run_ and a scream. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly and the emotion ebbed away.

Irrationally, I wanted to reach out to him. I suppressed the desire.

"I'll be in my quarters. You have the conn."

"Will we be leaving orbit soon, captain?"

"No. I have some stuff I gotta think about."

I was on the bridge when Dr. McCoy approached me five hours later.

"The condition of Dr. Leighton?"

"She's stable, but there's been a lot of brain damage. She might not even be able to remember her own name, when she wakes up."

"Did I delay—?"

"No. Most of the damage was done in the first few minutes the stuff hit her system. Afterwards, it was just a matter of her organs failing. I've got her automatic functions up and running again, but she's never going to discover that synthetic food she's been looking for."

"Have you informed the captain of her condition?"

"No. Ship's indicators shows he's sleeping right now, and he needs it. A lot."

I nodded in agreement.

"So. What're we going to do."

Dr. McCoy does not have the same ability as the captain to project strong emotions such that a telepath might detect them. However, as he leaned on the captain's chair tiredly, I could detect his emotions without touch and was surprised by what I found. There was a mass of hurt and confusion as well as tired anger. _why didn't he tell me can't the guy just catch a break why didn't he tell me best friend best man that i know why didn't he tell me_ his emotions clamored.

I stood up. His emotions would only hinder my capacity to produce a correct analysis of our predicament.

"Perhaps it would be best to confront the captain. I have had the opportunity to review the remainder of the files the captain accessed. Additionally, I have run my own searches in the Federation database and found that of the nine survivors, four have died prematurely. Three of those deaths were caused by the breakdown of the autonomic nervous system and/or severe brain damage. Two other survivors have suffered from debilitating memory loss."

The doctor is fully capable of 'connecting the dots.'

"So someone's out there killing off Tarsus IV survivors. Just great, that's just what we need, a goddamn mass murderer out to finish what he started."

"There is more. I overheard the captain speak of the Shakespearean actor named Anton Karidian. I looked into his files and the travel logs of his acting troupe. Mr. Karidian's credit accounts were opened in 2248, two years after the disappearance of Kodos. Not only that, but the acting troupe was performing planetside at the time of four of the six occurrences. The other two times, they were on a neighboring planet. These facts combined are not enough to make a direct correlation between the deaths and Mr. Karidian's show circuit, but they are compelling."

"What do you mean, not a direct correlation? That's direct enough for me! And why the hell hasn't Starfleet picked upon this trail of dead bodies?! Why are we _always _the ones cleaning up their messes?"

"The secrecy that the Federation has shrouded the events on Tarsus IV has assisted the killer. When I looked into the criminal investigation files of the six cases, all the investigators recorded puzzlement as to the motive behind the murder. One was put on file as extremely frustrated. He encountered the wall of secrecy, and the Federation was not willing to disclose the files."

"Typical. Damn fool bureaucrats, never make any sense, people caught in stupid red tape and paperwork," Dr. McCoy grumbled. He stepped towards me. "Fine. We'll talk to Jim. We can play good cop, bad cop."

"Doctor, this is not an interrogation."

"Not if I know Jim. It's easier to pull teeth and catch a damn Mississippi catfish than to get answers from him, sometimes. You do what you do best, with all your statistics and almost-direct correlations. Make him see reason, for once in his life."

"What is it that you do best?"

"Get him to talk."


	37. Ch 37

There has been an unforeseen complication in our plans to cross-examine the captain. It has taken the form of Lucas Karidian, the son of Anton Karidian.

The captain is mesmerized, for lack of a better word, by the younger Karidian. The blonde actor is highly attractive by most Terran standards. His personality has drawn not only the captain, but a good number of personnel, to him. I asked Dr. McCoy about this recent trend.

"What's there not to like?" the doctor asked sarcastically. "He's beautiful, a little mysterious, friendly, and confident. Everyone thinks he's attractive and he knows it. Not a bad actor, too, from what I hear."

"The captain's attachment to Lucas Karidian does not make our job easier."

"You think I don't know that? But Jim knows what he's doing."

I looked at the doctor.

"He does. Most of the time, anyway. He told the security guys to keep an eye out for Lt. Riley. He doesn't want Riley to suspect anything or do something rash—Kodos did kill the boy's whole family," Dr. McCoy scowled. "But he's not going to let Riley to die either."

"The captain is basing his actions off his intuition?"

"Scary thing, Jim's intuition," Dr. McCoy muttered.

"Hey Bones, Spock." The captain gave us an odd look. "You guys aren't fighting."

"Do you desire that we—"

"No, no," he hastily answered. "Not fighting is great! Kind of weird seeing you guys agreeing on something, but I could definitely get used to it," the captain grinned. "So, when'd this happen?"

"Couple days ago, while you were wining and dining with the high society Planet Q had to offer."

The captain frowned.

"We agreed that you're an idiot."

"Hey! There's no way Spock would agree to that. Right?"

"Captain, there have been times when I was forced to reconsider whether or not you were in full possession of your mental facilities."

Dr. McCoy grinned while the captain stared, incredulity written on his face.

"We also found out that we have the same hobby! Isn't that great?"

"What? What hobby?"

"Keeping you alive," the doctor deadpanned.

"Har har, really clever, Bones." The captain's eyes lit up as Lucas Karidian entered the bridge.

I stiffened. The younger Karidian was carefully taking in all of the control stations and operations of the bridge. Dr. McCoy and the captain seemed to notice this as well.

"Lucas!" the captain exclaimed.

The actor and the captain swiftly met each other and shared a brief embrace and kiss.

"Want me to show you around the bridge?"

"I'd be honored," said, then closed the distance between them and whispered.

There are some disadvantages to Vulcan hearing.

"All this power, surging and throbbing, yet under control. Are you like that," he kissed the captain's ear, "captain?"

The captain visibly struggled to regain control.

"I'll be in Sickbay," the doctor declared.


	38. Ch 38

The Karidian players are performing _Hamlet_.

Dr. McCoy finally confronted the captain when he visited the Sickbay. Lt. Riley was attacked at 1239 and like his predecessors, suffers severe brain damage, to the point where he is in a completely vegetative state. It will be the captain's decision whether to keep the lieutenant on life support or to terminate his life.

"I thought that if I kept my mouth shut, you'd come around and tell me or Spock or _someone_ on your own, but no! You kept this whole damn thing to yourself, invited the goddamned governor himself to kill off the rest of you! Now you've got Riley in a coma that he's never going to wake up from!"

"Bones, I had it under control—"

"You just shut up and listen for one goddamn minute of your life, James Tiberius Kirk. You make this decision unilaterally and now you're paying for it. I've been your best friend for the past what? Four years? How the hell do you justify keeping that kind of a secret!

"But that's not the clincher. I know you, Jim. You're waiting. You're not sure that this guy Karidian is Kodos—I've read all those psych textbooks about what traumatic events do to memories. And then there's that annoying habit of yours to up and _willingly forget_ about all the disturbing, painful, fucked up shit you've been through. Coping habits, yeah I get it, Jim.

"That doesn't change the fact that you're waiting, waiting for something that'll trigger your memory and make you _sure_ that it's Kodos you've got here. What if you decide he is Kodos? What then? Do you play God, carry his head through the corridors in triumph? That won't bring back the dead, Jim!"

"No. But they might rest easier."

"Bullshit. This is personal for you. This isn't about justice, it's about revenge. We found the lists—the man killed your mother and stepfather. Did you also know that eight of the nine survivors have been attacked, and every single time, the Karidian players were lurking somewhere behind stage?"

"The correlation is direct, captain. An agent among the Karidian actors has been eliminating the survivors of Tarsus IV. An attempt will be made to kill you. You are already aware of this, and have been aware of it from the moment you allowed the acting troupe to board this ship. A better question is—why do you invite death?"

"Let me ask you just one thing." There was viciousness in his voice.

"Shoot."

"Do you have _any_ hard evidence that this guy is Kodos? That proves beyond a fucking doubt that he ordered four thousand people to be massacred. Because I sure as fuck don't have anything."

"Jim, the evidence—"

"Is all circumstantial. The bastard cleaned up his trail real good, so they don't even have DNA samples to identify him. Only fucking voice recordings. And I've already run that test and the fucking computer says that it's inconclusive. Of course it's inconclusive, it's been fucking thirteen years since Tarsus.

"I'm not out for revenge. Think what you want, but I'm not out for revenge. I have every fucking reason to do it, but if I were, I would've killed him as soon as I saw him. Every instinct is screaming at me that this is Kodos, but _that's all I have_. And it's not enough to bring him to trial, it's not enough to convict him, and whatever I do sure as hell isn't enough to make him pay for what he's done.

"And if I had killed him, you wouldn't even know it," the captain breathe harshly.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean—"

"I was alone with him. Standing the same room, chatting. That voice, god, it fucking echoes in my head," the captain began pacing. "He read the pronouncement. Had it fucking memorized, even. I made him read it. I could have killed him right then and there and no one would have known. Just dump his body in space and make up some convenient excuse," he laughed mirthlessly. "It would have been so easy, blood oozing out of every orifice. A nameless death. But I didn't. And I have no idea why I didn't."

The doctor clasped the captain's shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Because you're not God. You're James Tiberius Kirk, the idiot who commands the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. The same man who offered, for reasons that are still beyond me, help and compassion to that insane Romulan. Maybe on Tarsus you were alone and scared shitless, but that's the past and this is now. You've got me and Spock beside you."

The captain looked at me. The question hung—_Spock?_

My mother's family was of Jewish origin. They did not practice that religion actively, but my mother loved to read the _Tanakh_. I once read the entirety of the Hebrew Holy Scriptures in my teenage years. It stimulated my interest in Terran history and the human species, but most of it puzzled me greatly.

For reasons unknown, a passage from the book of Ruth came to my mind as I neatly stepped towards the captain.

_Entreat me not to leave thee, and to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God; where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried; the __Lord__ do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me._

An extravagant vow on the part of Ruth. It is imprudent and impossible to offer such loyalty to one being.

The captain's blue eyes regarded me, waiting. I nodded.

"I am here, captain."


	39. Ch 39

"I was a wild kid. And I mean wild."

_To be, or not to be: that is the question:_

"My mom and stepdad didn't know what to do with me. They tried practically everything, sending me to counselors, psychologists, behavior modification centers, special schools for geniuses. My aptitude tests were off the charts. I also got diagnosed with ten thousand different things, most of them bullshit—autism, RAD, Rett syndrome, ADHD, various learning disabilities, bipolar, claustrophobia, to name a few. But nothing really worked. I hated being away from them more than anything, so I would behave for a while, the people would declare me 'cured' or whatever, and I'd get to go back home.

"And I'd go apeshit again. I couldn't live with them, couldn't live without them. A no-win situation," he laughed bitterly. "Mom and Mark did the best they could by me, I realize that now. And it must have been hell for them."

_Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer  
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,_

"Mom'd been doing off planet work for a while. When the opportunity to go to Tarsus came up, the family decided to go. Well, George was at some special science school and didn't wanna leave, so they arranged to have him stay with his friends. He didn't really get along with the rest of us anyway.

"I was pumped, I was absolutely _thrilled_ that we were going into space. A new planet, somewhere I could just run free. The idea of someplace new was what really captured my imagination, and I read everything possible about Tarsus IV—its history, institutions, geography, everything. I think I was about ten or eleven or something. Ten, since the 'car off the cliff' thing was the straw that broke the camel's back."

_Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,  
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;_

"The first year was great. I had so much fun, made a bunch of friends. Met Tiff there, and she was about as crazy as me then. Mom and Mark liked the colony too and decided they were gonna stay. Mark even got some new farm equipment and installed a new computer for me. And he promised we'd begin building a new motorcycle, from scratch."

"The second year was so-so. The weather didn't hold up so good. We broke even, but it was a lot of hot sweaty work out in dusty fields. I didn't mind, though. Mom and Mark needed me, gave me actual responsibilities and shit, so I didn't have time to go around inflict mass property destruction. I still got into a hell of a lot of trouble, but nothing gigantically stupid or dangerous. It was just for fun.

"The third year, it was obvious to anyone with eyes and half a brain that we'd need help. That we weren't gonna make it. I remember Mark getting really worried, talking with the neighbors about delays in the Federation and rumors of pirates raiding supply lines. Food was getting pretty scarce and crime went way up. Our house got raided a couple times, but Mom and Mark were pretty smart and had a couple hideaways for food.

"Then it started getting really bad. Like anarchy, people killing each other. The colony council didn't know what to do, and that's when Kodos took over. I remember the half relief, half worry that was in the air when news got out that his coup was successful. People wanted food. They wanted order. He promised both. There was tons of speculation that he had some secret stash that was gonna save us all or something."

_No more; and by a sleep to say we end  
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks_

"I can't remember the day he made that announcement. I think I was asleep in the barn or something. Or making out with Tiff. We had a thing for each other back then.

"When I got back to the house, Mom was crying and Mark was radiating worry, anger, all kinds of messed up emotion. I thought they had a fight, but as soon as she saw me, she grabbed onto me and started saying 'thank god, thank god you're alive, I thought you were dead.' That confused and scared the shit out of me.

"Kodos had made his announcement. Mark was scrambling to find some way off the planet, but there weren't any ships leaving. Everything was grounded," the captain looked at us. "After everything was over, the Feds assumed that Kodos started killing people immediately after his grand statement. That wasn't it at all—he started killing people a week after. Eight days, to be exact. Seems like he needed some time to decide who he was going to kill. The lucky fucking four thousand didn't bother to correct the Feds."

_That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation  
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;_

"The worst part is that practically no one protested. It's like they accepted their lives were in a fucking lottery, and they all assumed that they'd win. And it'd suck for the other guy, but at least they'd still be alive. I think a couple people committed suicide, but at this point, people were dying off from starvation anyway. The colony fell apart. Some people even signed up to be part of Kodos' army, since they figured that guaranteed them a spot in the breadline, which it did.

"Mark considered it, but in the end he just couldn't. I didn't understand it at the time—I was a kid. I thought I was an adult, being thirteen and all, but I was hungry, I wanted food, and he had the chance to get some. I was so pissed off that I couldn't think straight.

"Kodos didn't even do us the courtesy of announcing who was gonna die. Just one day, screams erupted in the air. These guys started killing by any means possible. There weren't enough phasers for them all, so they had ropes, butcher's knives, wrenches, whatever they thought would be good for killing. Some guys had heirloom hunting rifles that used real metal bullets."

_To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;  
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come_

"I think that's what got Mark and my Mom. I remember my ears ringing from the noise of that thing. I was sleeping when he yelled at me to run, just start running. It was night, which helped me get away. I ran—I don't even know where I ran to. It's is all kind of a blur for me, really. All I really remember is being scared, hungry, tired. I couldn't sleep. I do remember this smell one night though. I thought that they were having a barbeque to celebrate or something and I was so tempted to go and sneak something.

"So I did. And when I got close, I started dry heaving. It wasn't a fucking barbeque."

The doctor made a noise in the back of his throat.

"They were burning the bodies. Incinerating everyone. Presumably under the orders of Kodos. He was there, overseeing it all," the captain's eyes were distant. "I remember wanting to die right then and there. Or thinking that this was a huge nightmare. I would wake up and Mom would be there with some pancakes and Mark would tell me to hurry up 'cause we needed to fix the sprinklers."

_When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,  
Must give us pause: there's the respect  
That makes calamity of so long life;_

"I have no idea what made me keep going, but I did. If you guys were looking for some sort of 'what makes Jim tick' kind of revelation, there isn't one. Shit, if you guys can figure out why I decided to keep breathing, I'd fucking love to hear it. Can't tell you how many people have psychoanalyzed me and given me pure bullshit.

"And I don't really remember _how_ I managed to stay alive until the Fed ships came. I don't even remember how long it was between the time of the executions and the time they ships came. The official file says it was three days, but I don't really believe it. It felt a lot longer.

"Somewhere in between, I found Tiff and we stuck together. I think we hid out mostly in an abandoned grain silo and ate anything that was lying around. Another person on the run—he was older and bigger—decided he wanted to hide out where we were. There was plenty of room for three, but for some reason he had to have it all. So I killed him. Bashed his head in with my skinny little arms. He had a bunch of food stuffed in his pockets, probably stolen. I guess he didn't wanna share."

_For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,  
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,__  
__The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,  
The insolence of office and the spurns_

"That's really about all there is to it. They shipped us all back to different patches of the Federation. My case manager thought—thinks—that Tarsus really messed me up because I started doing crazy shit again. Maybe it did, maybe it didn't. I think it's just because I was back on Earth and lost both my parents. George was still in school so there was no way he could take care of me, I didn't really have any other living relatives. I got shuffled around different foster homes. Didn't stay very long, mostly because I was constantly landing my ass in jail or getting into fights. I mean, my own mom could hardly stand me half the time, and Mark had inhuman patience. I don't blame any of my foster parents for it, they were all good people.

"And by that time I kind of developed an allergy to authority of any kind. Anyone who even _tried_ to help me, I thought they were trying to control me. A lot of it was normal teenage stuff—rebellion and all that shit, but magnified a hundred times, just 'cause I'm me."

_That patient merit of the unworthy takes,  
When he himself might his quietus make  
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,  
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,_

"So that's basically all the stuff that's missing in the files. You guys know all about me now. Gonna declare me unfit for duty, Spock? Emotionally compromised and all that shit?"

I was still processing everything the captain had said and could not begin to take in his black humor.

"That's not even funny, Jim," the doctor ground out. "How you can stand there and joke about this is completely beyond me."

"It happened. It's over. I'm breathing. Life goes on," he shrugged. "I don't see the point in getting all weepy or hung up on it. Shit happens. Yeah, I happen to have a particularly shitty collection of things that've been dumped on me, and yeah, I don't ever want to experience anything like that again. But I'm also in space right now, captain of a ship. I thought I was gonna end up in prison before I turned twenty, to be honest.

"Even when I got into Starfleet, I didn't think they'd take my application into officer school. Given my less than spotless record, it was a way long shot. I lucked out 'cause Pike managed to convince the board to look the other way and let me in. And then in officer school, I _never_ thought I'd actually get command of a ship. I aimed for it, yeah, but the risk analysis part of the psych tests consistently scored way too high for the comfort of any admiral. I figured I'd make lieutenant commander, tops. Maybe captain after I got several years under my belt."

_But that the dread of something after death,  
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn  
No traveller returns, puzzles the will_

There was silence.

"What're you going to do about Karidian, Jim?"

"Now? I don't really know. Talking to him, he sounded weary. Tired. Haunted. From a command perspective, I can sort of see the twisted logic of it. If I had to choose between losing the whole crew and sacrificing half—"

"Captain, you have always been able to find a third option."

"Unbelievable. You go from wanting to kill the man and sympathizing with him," the doctor threw up his hands.

"Not sympathizing. I don't condone any of his actions, Bones," the captain said in a hard tone of voice. "Getting into a person's head and seeing his point of view doesn't mean you agree with it. Just means that you see it."

Pieces began to come together. Facts, observations, notes, analysis. The formation of a pattern. It gnawed in the back of my mind.

"Captain, do you truly believe yourself to be living on 'borrowed time'?"

The captain sighed. "We all die, Spock. So in that sense we're all living on borrowed time. It's just a matter of how much more time we're willing to steal."

_And makes us rather bear those ills we have  
Than fly to others that we know not of?  
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;_

The doctor snorted. "That's one of the more idiotic ideas I've heard flying out of your mouth, borrowed time and stealing time. You must be running up quite the account with the hourglass, given the number of times I've practically resurrected you."

"Why'd'ya think I keep you around, Bones? My very best partner in crime," he grinned.

"You want to know why you keep living?"

"Why?"

"'Cause it's who you are. Somewhere, buried under a considerable mountain of bullshit, is pure, shining love for life. None of this 'I'm on the run from the time police' crap. You're living because you _want_ to live, not because you've eked by. I know plenty of people who would've just given up, caught by that siren song."

"Bones—"

"You forget that I'm doctor. I've seen tons of death too, of a different kind than yours, but still death. Patients who just have no will to recover from whatever they've been through, or patients who have zero chance of living pulling through and getting back on their feet. You can't save the life of a person who wants to die—any doctor'll swear on the Bible to that fact.

"I've put your guts together more times than I can count. After surgery, it's always a matter of praying to every deity I can think of that you'll pull through, that you'll find a reason to stay. But you know what? You don't need a reason. You come back every time like the goddamn sun rising every day. So I've stopped praying. No point to it, really."

"Hey! I might need..."

"What, prayers?"

"Nevermind."

_And thus the native hue of resolution  
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,  
And enterprises of great pitch and moment  
With this regard their currents turn awry,  
And lose the name of action._

--

"What were you thirteen years ago?"

"Younger, captain, much younger."

"Why are there no records of you?"

"Blood thins, the body fails, and one is finally grateful for a failing memory. I no longer treasure life, not even my own. I am tired! The past is a blank."

--

"What have you done? All eight? More blood on my hands? My child! My child! You've left me nothing!"

"It had to be done, father! The lies, the falsehoods, all the propaganda! They would never let you be free!"

"He murdered four thousand people, Luke!"

"I was a soldier with a cause; there were things that had to be done – terrible things!"

"Father! You having nothing to justify!"

"Murder, flight, suicide, madness—you were the one thing in life untouched by what I'd done."

--

"There's a stain of cruelty on your shining armor, captain. You could have spared him, and me. I was a tool, wasn't I? A tool to use against my father."

"In the beginning, maybe, but later... I wanted it to be more than that."

"Later! Everything's always later. Later, latest, too late! Too late, captain. You are like your ship—powerful, but not human. There is no mercy in you."


	40. Ch 40

"Captain?"

"Hey, Spock, what's up?"

"May I speak with you in private?"

The captain frowned. "Sure. Let's go to my quarters."

The captain entered a long and complex security sequence to open his door. I looked at him inquiringly.

"Hey, can't be too careful. I don't want to be assassinated just because I didn't lock my door when I went to sleep."

A reasonable course of action. After the death of his father, Lucas Karidian managed to escape from the brig and attempted to exact revenge on the captain. The success of the younger Karidian's plans depended on the element of surprise and emotional manipulation, as he was in no way proficient in man-to-man combat. Obviously, he failed on both counts.

The interior of the captain's chambers was, for the most part, unchanged. The gifts he received from various diplomats were placed around the room without any particular thought for aesthetic arrangement. I compared his quarters with those of Nyota, who has steadily been accumulating artifacts from alien worlds. I have observed that humans enjoy purchasing objects of the locations they visited. It serves to remind them of that place and any pleasant memories associated with it. My human half seems to express itself in that respect, as I have gone through the trouble of acquiring several Vulcan pieces. However, I am not certain that I regard them strictly as mere reminders of a lost planet.

"So, Spock, what can I do for you?"

I did not know where to begin. I also began to doubt the rationale behind my decision to consult with the captain on this manner. The captain took my silence as a negative sign.

"Has anything happened? Is there something wrong?"

"No, captain. I am simply trying to resolve how to best begin."

The captain raised his eyebrows, then grinned widely. "I never thought I'd see the day when you were actually lost for words!"

Annoyance began to surface.

"I am not 'lost for words,' captain. This is a delicate matter which requires precision in articulation so that I might accurately convey my meaning. Now that I have reconsidered the issue, I believe it was imprudent of me to confer with you—"

"Alright, alright, I take it back," the captain laughed. "Don't run away, Spock, I won't laugh at you. Promise."

"Very well. The anniversary of Lt. Uhura's birth approaches in 72 hours 53 minutes and 12 seconds. She follows Terran traditions and expects to receive gifts from her intimates. As well as I know Nyota, I have never been able to procure a satisfactory gift for her."

Shopping for Nyota has always been a most frustrating and taxing ordeal. Try as I might, I have never been able to discern a pattern in her tastes and preferences. Shopping _with_ her is something I hope never to repeat. She once forced me to accompany her on one of her trips to patronize the local fashion institutions and spent countless hours simply browsing through the impossibly large selection, with no apparent objective or intent to purchase an item. At first, I thought it a peculiarity in her personality that she should choose to spend her time thus, but apparently this is typical behavior among Terran females and many Terran males.

"So you want _me_ to help you pick out a gift?" The captain wore a look of incredulity on his face.

"I thought perhaps you might provide insight into the parameters of a suitable gift."

"Uh, Spock, if you can't figure out something to get her for her birthday, _I_ sure as hell can't. I mean, maybe you could take her out on a romantic date? Scratch that, you probably don't really do romantic, and there's not a lot of places you guys could have a nice dinner."

"Captain, Nyota and I have terminated our courtship. A date, as you suggest, would not be appropriate."

"_What_? When did this happen? Why am I always the last person to know about these things?! Why didn't anyone tell me about this?!"

"Captain, it is not within your rights as the ranking officer of this ship to know the private affairs of your crewmembers. No one is obligated to tell you anything related to their personal lives."

"But when did this happen?"

"Several Terran months ago."

"_Months_? I must be fucking _blind_!"

As the captain seemed fixated on the status of the relationship between myself and Nyota, I deemed it necessary to exit his quarters.

"Hey, where're you doing? I get it, I'll stop sticking my nose in your business," the captain held up his hands in a human gesture of surrender. "Uh, okay, I dunno, what does she like?"

"Xenolinguistics—"

"I meant not job-related."

"Objects related to her native country, Kenya, practically all forms of music, alien and Terran jewelry, clothing of indeterminate Terran fashion—"

The captain snorted. "Yeah, I never really figured out girls and clothes either."

He seemed to get an idea. The captain's ideas come in two varieties—the insanely brilliant, and the brilliantly insane.

"Hey, you said she liked music?"

"Affirmative."

"Has she ever been to an opera?"

"We attended the San Francisco opera on multiple occasions."

"I guess she liked it, then?"

"Indeed."

"Well you're in luck! Some stuffed shirt ambassador or bureaucrat or minister or whatever it is this time invited me to the opera that these aliens have down there. I really really really don't want to go."

"Are you suggesting that Nyota take your place, captain?"

"You'd go with her, of course, or they'd be majorly pissed off that I blew off their concert and didn't bother to send one of _my_ higher ups. People get tetchy about that stuff," the captain shrugged. "It'd solve all my problems and yours!"

"Your proposal does not seem unreasonable," I said, cautious. "However, I request to first look at the itinerary before I make a decision."

"Two step ahead of ya," the captain said, rummaging through his datapads. "Got it right here."

He was apparently _very_ eager not to attend this opera.

I was mildly surprised. The Veridians were putting on a Terran performance, _Lucia di Lammermoor_ by Donizetti, ostensibly in honor of the captain. The coloratura soprano was one of high renown throughout the galaxy. Nyota would be pleased to listen to her rendition of the 'Mad Scene' aria.

"It is acceptable."

"Great! Tell me how it goes afterwards."

--

"This had better be an improvement over the last birthday gift you got me."

"I believe you will find it more than satisfactory."

Nyota gasped.

"Oh my god! Really? Annare Netribyenko'j Gheorg in _Lucia_? Where did you _get_ these tickets? Oh my god, it's a private box!"

Nyota squealed and swiftly embraced me. It is fortunate that I am Vulcan, else I would have been tackled to the floor.

"This is the best present ever! Thank you! What'm I going to wear to this? I have to call Christine, how'm I going to do my hair..."

What Nyota chattered about was of little consequence. For a moment, I simply basked in the glow of her happiness.


	41. Ch 41

"Commander Spock?"

The captain has been bored.

"Ensign Yates."

As is his habit when he is bored, the captain has done something to wreak considerable havoc and annoy more than a few crewmembers.

"Commander Spock, I'm not sure how to say this..."

"If you bear some form of news related to the captain, and if that news contains any information of ship damage, personnel damage, or brain damage, you will not suffer repercussions unless you in any way encouraged or participated in the captain's latest misadventure."

"Participated?! I would never participate in this crime against _my_ robots! He's stolen 'em, sir! Every single one, my precious babies, and done somethin' to 'em. I can't find 'em, and Mr. Scott won't tell me where they've got to neither. They're both in on this—oooh, I can't _wait_ to get my hands on 'em and wring their necks—"

Ensign Yates seemed to remember my presence. I raised an eyebrow.

"Uh."

At times, human eloquence astounds me.

"Please explain the particulars of this situation from the beginning, Ensign."

"Right. Well, sir, it's like this. I take care of the CleanX3000 series robots. I've taken good care of 'em sir, when we were with the good Admiral Pike, and now with the young Captain Kirk. But this one don't got no respect for robots."

"I am not familiar with the series, Ensign. What function do these robots serve?"

"Well, like their name says, sir. They clean. Most important job on this ship, I'd say. Do you think that your latrine cleans itself? No sir—these little babies clean all of it up, all with top speed efficiency. Of course, they are comin' out with the new 4000 series, but Starfleet's resources the way they are, they're on the fence whether they want to buy 'em—"

"The point, Ensign."

"Right, sir. Well, I was going on my rounds, getting ready to do some maintenance on Ruby and Carla—there were some belt problems on ole Ruby—and I open the closet, and they're gone! All fifteen of my babies! I got 'round to investigating, and Tom tells me that the captain and that oaf of a Scotsman's got all of 'em and modifyin' 'em, doin' a pretty number! Alls I know is that they're in the Rec Room up to somethin', and—"

"That is sufficient information, Ensign Yates. Thank you for informing me of the situation. You may be ensured that I will attend to it."

"But Commander Spock, if they—"

"I will attend to this, Ensign. For the time being please, return to your other duties. You are dismissed."

"Permission to speak, sir?"

I sighed inwardly. What now.

"Granted. Be brief."

"Can I come with you sir? I can't stand the thought that anyone's harming my little ones—"

"Since you seem to have taken an unusual interest in these machines, I will allow you to accompany me to the Recreation Room on the condition that afterwards, you complete a psychological test administered by Dr. McCoy."

The man clearly has some obsessive tendencies. Why do humans anthropomorphize the most prosaic objects? There is nothing about a maintenance robot that remotely resembles a human infant or female. Ensign Yates seemed to understand the direction of my thoughts.

"Commander Spock, you can't just think of 'em like machines. They don't work right if you don't give 'em a little love and—"

"Another condition—that you remain silent for the duration you are in my presence."

Ensign Yates' eyes widened. "Understood, sir."

As we approached the Recreation Room, I heard the sound of metal masses colliding and human voices raised.

There are some days when I sincerely wonder why I chose to serve under James Tiberius Kirk. There are other days when I wonder why I have not yet transferred to another ship.

In the middle of the room was the captain, seated on one of the robots. Its programming had been modified, as had its appearance. Metal horns were soldered to one end, presumably the front, and a rope, meant to resemble a tail, tied to another. The captain was desperately trying to remain seated on the robot as it jerked erratically and made every effort to throw him off. There was a timer running, and the screen displayed a roster of names. Lt. Sulu was ranked as first with the time of 10.9 seconds.

"Great God."

Ensign Yates forgot my mandate of silence as he took in this scene.

"It's an American rodeo!"

He fainted.

In another corner of the room, Engineer Scott and another group had partitioned an area where the remaining robots, also modified in form and programming, were by all appearances trying to completely annihilate each other. Robot parts were scattered in the arena. Lt. Chekov and Engineer Scott were furiously inputting sequences into their remote controls as the robots literally smashed into each other.

Ensign Yates would have dubbed it 'Robot Gladiator.'

The captain had been thrown off the robotic bull. As he stood, he noticed my presence and gave an unabashed grin.

"Hey! Spo—"

"_Kroykah!_"

The captain's eyes widened. He must have been operating under the mistaken impression that I cannot raise my voice.

All activity in the room suddenly ceased, except two remaining robots that continued to collide into each other at regular intervals.

"Okay, I know how this looks—"

"Captain, if you do not wish for me to report this flagrant misuse of equipment to Starfleet, I suggest that you remain silent."

Engineer Scott and Lt. Chekov were making an attempt to leave the room.

"Remain where you are, gentlemen. I assure you that your effort to escape is futile, as I can identify all 53 crewmembers gathered in this room. If you should desire an individual reprimand, then leave. I will find you at a later time. However, as humans seem to value group experiences, it may be wiser to remain."

"Spock, it's not really fair to grill all of them. It was me and Scotty's idea, so you should just—"

"I have no doubts as to who devised this scheme. Such plans, however, cannot be accomplished without the assistance of others. You might be uniquely responsible for this new low in human stupidity, but they are responsible for taking part in it and facilitating it. And before you launch into a redundant defense of your fully realized chaos, let me ask of you one question.

"Do you know what purpose these robots serve on this ship?"

The captain shrugged. "Does it matter? They were just heaps of junk when we found them, collecting dust in some maintenance closet."

Engineer Scott looked distinctly apprehensive.

"Interesting. It seems, captain, that Mr. Scott has taken you for a fool. He knows the purpose of these 'heaps of junk,' as you referred to them. Mr. Scott, would you care to enlighten the captain?"

"Well, uhm, you see... I think it's better if you tell him, Mr. Spock."

"What? What's the big deal? Scotty, you _told_ me that they weren't anything important!"

"I might've told yeh a tiny little white lie. Jest a small one."

"Indeed. Captain, these robots, which you have demolished in a spectacular fashion, are responsible for the cleanliness of the ship. Starfleet introduced them nine years ago to when crewmembers complained that they were forced to clean their own toilets and maintain their own quarters when technology had long been available to attend to such tasks. As a result of your ingenuity, the _Enterprise_ has once again found itself in an unusual and unenviable situation.

"Ensign Yates, the engineer assigned to repair these robots, was on his way to replace some belts in two defective machines. Afterwards, the robots were to complete their weekly cleaning routine on the general crew decks. Since you have relieved the robots of their commission, the crew quarters will remain in whatever state of filth or squalor they are currently in, and that state will not improve until we reach Starbase 11.

"It is not guaranteed, however, that Starbase 11 will have cleaning units. Ensign Yates informed me that Starfleet undecided as to whether to buy the new CleanX4000 series. In either case, it is guaranteed that the parts for repairs of the CleanX3000 robots will be difficult to obtain, and the _Enterprise_ will have to explain the sudden destruction of fifteen formerly serviceable robots. Specifically, _I_ will have to explain this to Starfleet."

The captain had an epiphany.

"You're going to blackmail us?!"

"It is not blackmail, captain. I am simply presenting a choice, and the group will collectively decide which choice is best. Each individual in this room has demonstrated that they have not mastered the concept that the instruments aboard this ships serve a specific and important purpose. Your ship, captain, is not a toy. I have made several attempts to get this point across to you, but they have failed. Thus, I am left with no choice.

"Your options are as follows. I will write to Starfleet a full report, including all 53 names and ranks, of the activities that transpired. I will make my recommendations as to disciplinary actions, up to and including formal court martial. Starfleet will then take appropriate measures.

"Alternatively, I will create a temporary Maintenance Department, headed by Ensign Yates. You will be assigned to a cleaning rotation, and officers are not exempt. You will fulfill these duties during your ample recreation hours and report for duty as always. You will remain on rotation until we obtain new robots or when these robots are repaired. Ensign Yates will evaluate your performance and direct all crew complaints to me.

"You may deliberate amongst yourselves for fifteen minutes, and the captain will inform me of your decision."

"Hey, when did you take over—?"

"When you abdicated all responsibility. That is the duty of the First Officer, captain."

"We could just mutiny against you, you know."

"On the contrary, captain, when the remainder of the crew ascertains the reason why their quarters stench of their own excrement, mutiny will be the least of your problems. Though Terran swine exhibit both intelligence and the ability to live in refuse, it seems humans do not share in either capability."

The captain winced. He quickly recovered from my comment and thought of some new superfluous statement.

"Actually, I have a better question. When did you learn to blackmail people?"

I took a step towards the captain, leaned slightly, and spoke into his ear.

"I have a _very_ high learning curve."

He shivered.


	42. Ch 42

"I am not as naive as you are thinking me to be, keptan. You yourself are only twenty five, twenty six? Do you think yourself as young?"

We were observing the quasar Murasaki 296 when Nyota detected a distress signal from a small merchant vessel. The captain attempted to establish communication with the vessel, but there was no response. He engaged in standard rescue and investigation procedures. Scans of the ship indicated that life support systems were fully functional and there were two humanoids aboard, likely injured. Lt. Chekov, Lt. Kang, Ensign Welihozkiy, Ensign Bazzell, and Ensign DeWeaver were assigned to the Away Team. They were to simply take documentary evidence as required by Starfleet, find any other relevant information, and retrieve the two individuals.

"He's a tough kid, Jim. Made of a lot tougher stuff than you'd think. He's got to be, to be a damn Russian and live through that godforsaken winter. He'll pull through."

The Away Team immediately reported in after being successfully transported. Ensigns Welihozkiy and Bazzell began to send video to Lt. Uhura. The interior of the ship was battered and seemed to indicate a previous conflict. The captain straightened in his chair.

"Captain? There was nothing more you could have done. In fact, the situation could have ended disastrously, with five lost lives, rather than three."

"Spock, I don't need numbers right now."

"It is not like you to second guess your decisions."

"He's a kid! I fucking promised myself I wouldn't let anything happen to him, and I send him right into a fucking trap!"

"You did not know this at the time."

"I _should_ have known. I should have known the minute I saw those fucking pictures."

There was a sudden explosion. The transmission ended and the captain ordered the transporter room to lock on the signals of the Away Team and "get them the fuck out of there, _now_!" Scans indicated the presence of four new individuals, who had disguised their signal by hiding in the organic waste receptacles. Nyota made every attempt to hail them, opening all channels and broadcasting in all frequencies. There was no reply.

"Captain, I do not understand. Do you feel a special responsibility towards him because of his age? Lt. Chekov is a legal adult, and he made the decision as an adult to serve on the _Enterprise_. He was fully aware, as we all are, the risks that are inherent in the line of duty."

"I _promised_ myself."

A second explosion ripped through the entirety of the vessel. Initial scans revealed that there were no survivors, but the captain began to curse. He ordered all sensors to scan the surrounding space for life forms or any type of escape pod. I was able to identify one such object and calculate its trajectory before the _Enterprise_ was impacted with an alien jamming signal. Three minutes later, Nyota reported to the captain that the signal was not mere interference. There was a pattern in the noise.

"Keptan! I am not wanting you to feel bad for this. Do not look down, look at me," he said urgently. "I will be hafing some nice scars to show to my family in Russia. They will laugh and say Pasha, _nash kosmonat, kak_ Yuri Gagarin. You will laugh too. Maybe I get a medal of commemoration, _da_?"

The effects of the _Narada_ are far reaching.

Not all planets that are members of the Federation joined the body with unanimous approval among their citizens. There have always been radical groups of various types that have vehemently opposed entry. The reasons for opposition are as diverse as the groups and alien worlds themselves. Since the destruction of Vulcan and the newly weakened position of the Federation, these groups have used the opportunity to protest loudly and create unrest on several planets. Violence has occurred against a few planetary governments, but attacks had remained confined to the planet.

The Ziraktsi has the honor of being the first group instigating an act of terrorism against the Federation in space.

"What are they saying? Does it give us any idea what we're dealing with? Spock, where's that pod heading?"

"It was on course for the gaseous planet Ytternath-pi."

"_Was_? _Was_ on course? What the hell happened now?"

"A small vessel capable of supporting fourteen life forms has intercepted it. They are changing course and heading to the Seminolbian planet. Captain, that planet has reported recent violence among its population and the rise of an extremist separatist movement. It is likely that this gesture was carefully planned and meant as a message to both the Federation and the planetary institutions."

"And we just had to get caught in the fucking crossfires. Fuck it. Intercept that piece of shit, punch it at Warp 8. Uhura?"

Nyota was looking at her panel with a bewildered look on her face.

"Spock, will you confirm this for me?"

"Don't have time for that shit. Just tell me."

"It's—" Nyota turned to the captain. "It's the 'Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen,' sir. From Earth's French Revolution."

"Fine, some political group's got their panties up in a bunch because they want out of the Federation," the captain said, his tone deceptively blasé. It turned vicious. "What on that _fucking_ list of theirs gives them the right to attack _my_ ship and kidnap _my_ crew?"

No one answered.

"Intercept in nine minutes, sir."

"Kirk to Sickbay. Bones, get ready for some hurt people."

"Spock?" The captain looked at me expectantly.

"Without doubt, those who attacked us are revolutionaries. They are radical enough, bold enough, and organized enough to coordinate an attack in space against a Constitution class vessel several astronomical units from their native star system. Such a maneuver is a calculated message intended to intimidate their own international government and display the full extent of their capabilities. It is likely that they have other ships and resources and are planning other attacks against Federation vessels and against the Seminolbian planet.

"The signal itself is too far to be detected on the planet. Therefore, it is message for the Federation, whom they perceive as violating their rights, and it is possible that it is a message to you, captain. The revolutionaries wish to sway your sympathies for their cause by appealing these so called universal rights of man. They appeal to high ideals to justify their campaign of violence. The appeal, however, is undermined by the fact that they have forcibly taken and/or killed our five crewmembers. Furthermore, it is my belief that they desired to inflict severe damage to the _Enterprise_ itself or acquire control. If you recall captain, a vessel of that size could have been towed into the ship by the tractor beam. Once on board, the terrorists would have made known the threat of the explosive and forced you to give up command of the ship or simply detonated the device.

"Negotiation with such a party is useless. We cannot use our phasers against the intercepting ship, since our weapons would kill everyone on board, including our own crew. It is probable that the ship is also outfitted with explosives. Unless you can think of an alternative, captain, our only option is to beam aboard another away team and capture the revolutionaries by hand."

"Giving them more possible hostages."

"Yes. As we get closer to their home planet, it is possible that they have a base from which they might send other attacks. This may be an extensive scheme to lure us towards the planet, from which they might launch the full force of their assault. All the citizens of the planet would be watching such a conflict. In either case, the revolutionaries accomplish something towards their ends. If they win and obliterate this ship, they might cause an international war and the collapse of the established government. If they lose, they have still demonstrated unexpected power and a willingness to challenge the authorities. Afterwards, it is only a matter of time before they rebuild their resources and gain more popularity."

"So catch them before we get near the planet. Why should I care about this planet staying in the Federation."

"It contains an important Starfleet surveillance base and is one of the few planetary posts we have in this sector. This systems is valuable for purely military and strategic reasons."

"There's actual shit at stake. Great. You said capture, I'm really more inclined to kill."

"It may not make a difference. If these revolutionaries are as radical as their actions indicate, they may commit suicide to resist capture. I suggested capture because I might gain information through a mind meld."

"Intercept in four minutes, sir."

"Spock, you're coming with me. Kirk to Giotto. Get me two O-Alpha teams in the transporter room, phasers set to 'kill.'"

"Aye, sir."

"It's a rescue mission. They've got five of our guys, possibly dead. We're there to collect their bodies. Tell the guys to be ready for anything. Kirk to Sickbay."

"I already have a team ready in the transporter room ready as soon as you beam back from God knows where."

"Good. Wish me luck, Bones."

"Like hell."

"Uhura, get Sulu on the conn. He's to shoot at anything that comes near this ship, and don't let that ship we're gonna be on get away. Tell him to try and use a tractor beam if he can to keep us in place. And we might have company—don't even try to contact them if you don't recognize the marks. Just blast them with phasers."

"Aye, captain."

"Spock, let's go."

"Intercept in two minutes," the navigator's voice came over the intercom.

"Spock, what can we expect?"

The two teams and the captain were gathered in the transporter room. I took my phaser from the security officer.

"Humanoid, similar to humans in several aspects. No reported specials strengths or weaknesses, though they are extremely flexible and have double jointed elbows and knees. These revolutionaries have anticipated this situation and probably have had extensive combat training."

"Fine. Bring it," the captain spat. "Team Two, you follow after us. Ready? Energize."

The captain has improved his combat skills considerably since I attempted to strangle him on the bridge. He has developed an unpredictable, erratic style that combines several forms of martial arts and street fighting. It keeps his opponent off balance, interrupting the cadence of their movements and making them falter and stumble. The elegant motions of the Ziraktsi, their dance-like sparring, deteriorated into a frantic brawl.

That is not to say that the captain is perfect in his form. He emerged from the fight injured in several places. Twice he was almost killed by friendly fire, and once a Ziraktsi roundhouse kick almost shattered his temple. I snapped that revolutionary's neck cleanly, and not without satisfaction. As I did with the Romulan, I savaged through the Ziraktsi's mind to gain the necessary information.

It seems that the Ziraktsi made the most of their time with their captives.

I led the captain and the security teams to a dingy hall of small rooms. In a larger holding chamber, we found Lt. Kang, Ensign Welihozkiy, and Ensign DeWeaver dead, their bodies covered with burns from the explosion and marred with strange electric burns. In two separate chambers were Lt. Chekov and Ensign Bazzell, hanging from a pole by their wrists. Taped to various parts of their body were wires, which in turn were hooked up to a power source.

_What do you know what do you know tell us everything you know Federation dogs bureaucratic scum what do you know I will die for this cause you can't stop us no one can stop us tell us what you know Liar always lies traitor thief tyrant I burn you burn burn burn burn tell tell or burn_

Primitive techniques of interrogation. They are rarely effective. They are never effective when those questioned have nothing to tell. The paranoid mind of the revolutionary was not able to accept that.

"Get them down. Gently. Fuck, Spock, what the hell did they _do_? He's just a fucking kid."

"They ran an electric current through him repeatedly, increasing the amps and voltage with each question he could not answer. That is how Ensign Welihozkiki, Lt. Kang, and Ensign DeWeaver ultimately expired."

"Sulu, keep this ship in tractor beam. I want Team One to search this thing for any explosives and defuse them. Secure the ship. Bones, we've got casualties. Scotty, energize."

The captain has been in contact with the base on the Seminolbia. We were able to provide the names of ten of the twelve top deputies in the revolutionary movement. Starfleet's Intelligence units are making arrests, freezing credit accounts, grounding all space flights, discovering weapons caches, rounding up revolutionaries, thanks to the information I was able to obtain. The officers there count is as a 'major victory,' but there has been nothing triumphant about this mission.

The way in which the captain managed this emergency and the tired demeanor of the crew indicates that a shore leave is necessary. The rate at which we lose crewmembers is higher than any ship in the past ten Terran years, and the grief is taking its toll. Dr. McCoy has made similar recommendations for shore leave to the captain.

"I am not as naive as you are thinking me to be, keptan. I am Russian. In Russia, we haf always faced death. The tsars send you to Sibera, Hitler starfs Leningrad, Stalin kills eweryone. There is always some intelligence agency arresting someone and making him go disappearing. It is our history.

"In my family, my brother, Piotr, he was pilot on ship also, but he died in firefight with the Klingons. Or so they say. We are not certain, because he joined a intellectual party when he was in uniwersity. Next thing we know, he is in front lines, guarding Klingon space. But what do you do? Piotr always is telling me when I was little, 'it is no use playing Dostoevsky.' _Ya soglasno_. I am agreeing.

"Sewenteen is not so young in Russia. It is old enough to get conscripted into the military. It is three years too old to start drinking wodka. Rewolutionaries are always crazy. You should be reading some Russian rewolutionaries, keptan. I am familiar with them. These Ziraktsi, they are not so different. They belief in something, they fight. They are losing, someday maybe they are winning. It is how it was in Russia.

"You are searching for justice, keptan. You are playing Dostoevsky. Me—there is no searching for truth or justice. Russians have rewritten our history so many times there is no ending it. It is a tradition now. A funny tradition, a sad tradition. It is laughing and crying.

"Me—there is physics, and ewen I am finding that it is not always true everywhere in the uniwerse. Especially around you, keptan. But that is okay too. I am free. You should listen to old Soviet singer Vysotsky, keptan. He has famous song, and everything is wrong. He visits places and nothing is right. And he sings '_yesho raz, yesho raz_.' One more time, one more time.

"It is not happy, but it is a song. That is all that is needing."


	43. Ch 43

"Captain's log, stardate 3025 point, what Spock?"

"Three, captain."

"What he said. We're orbiting an uninhabited planet in the Omicron Delta region, Earthlike."

"To be more precise, captain, the conditions are remarkably similar to the North American continent before it was colonized."

"Again, what he said. Spock, why don't you just do the captain's logs? I always thought it was kind of weird, talking like I was opening on some holovid show."

"They are traditional for Terran captains. I myself do no comprehend the reason for keeping them, as human captains rarely relate the salient facts of a mission, excepting the stardate."

"Maybe for emergencies?"

"Captain, has there ever been an occasion in your experience when you had the time to record a log while a ship wide emergency was in progress?"

"Good point."

"As they are mandated by Starfleet, I suggest that you complete your log entry."

"I don't even remember what the fuck I was going to say."

"The Starfleet historians certainly will have some interesting material to work with then they attempt to reconstruct the voyage of the _Enterprise_."

"It'll keep them on their toes."

"The log, captain."

"Um, we're going on shore leave to this uninhabited planet because the crew really fucking needs it. Hey Spock, do they edit these things?"

"If they are to be released to the public, I am certain they will generously edit your entries. As your last attempt at self censorship ended disastrously, I suggest that you simply speak as you always do."

I left the captain to check the status of the landing parties. Everything was in order, so I returned to stand by his side. A yeoman brought a datapad contain the shore party rosters.

"Anything from the landing party?"

"They should be sending up a report momentarily, captain."

The captain sat up abruptly.

"Shit, ow."

"Is there something wrong, captain?"

"I think I just popped something wrong. There's this kink in my back."

The yeoman attended to the matter.

"Yeah, right there. A little higher. Push a little harder, will ya—" I moved my position. "—uh, Spock?"

I gave him a look. Realization dawned on the captain's face.

"Um, thanks yeoman. I'm okay now."

He returned my look with one of his own.

Yeoman Barrows interjected. "If it's not out of line, captain, you really need to rest. I didn't see you name on any of the rosters—"

"Thanks, but I'll be fine. I get enough of that from Bones anyway."

"Dr. McCoy is correct, captain. After everything we have endured, there is not a crewman aboard who is not in need of rest. Myself excepted, of course."

The captain rolled his eyes. "Lt. Rietzmann, send the landing party reports to my quarters. I'm gonna go take a break."

Shortly after the captain left, the doctor contacted the ship.

"Jim?"

"Spock here, doctor."

"Where the hell is Jim? I know he didn't put his name down on those lists. He better come down and see this planet, it's just like heaven on Earth. Seriously, I couldn'ta prescribe better."

"The captain really should see this. There's no people, no animals—no worries."

"Thank you for your input, Lt. Sulu. I am certain the captain will take your persuasive report into account."

"Spock, you've got your problems, I've got my problems, but Jim's got his own idiotic issues in addition to all that responsibility of being captain. Life'll be better for both of us if he's not pumped up for once on cortisol and norepinephrine."

"You should come down too, Mr. Spock. There's some amazing biological samples. I've never seen anything like it."

"I believe the purpose of shore leave is to rest, Lt. Sulu. To Vulcans, to rest is to cease using energy. I have never comprehended the logic behind humans participating in activities that consume more energy when they are 'resting' than in their daily routine."

"Of course you don't get the logic of it. Resting isn't just physical, it's emotional too, something _you_ wouldn't understand even if you didn't have pointy ears."

"Doctor, I fail to understand the relevance of the physical structure of Vulcan ears in—"

"Just get Jim down here. Put that logic of yours to good use and come up with some infallible argument."

"All of my arguments are infallible, Dr. McCoy."

"Damnit, Spock! You and Jim both, what is it with you always having the last word?"

--

I entered the captain's quarters to deliver my infallible argument.

"Did you see anything, Sulu?"

"I didn't see anything."

"You were off in the damn bushes looking at dirt!"

"I didn't hear anything either. Um, captain? The doctor looks kind of like he's losing it."

"Shut up, Sulu. I'm not hallucinating."

The captain sighed. "Bones, you're sure you didn't accidentally dose yourself with the happy stuff? Spock said there were no life forms, no force fields, no unusual energy sources, nothing like that. He said there wouldn't be any problems!"

"Captain, our sensor scans have failed before. It is possible that some unidentified and new form of energy or life is causing these anomalies."

"It's also possible that Bones is stressed out and seeing things."

"What do you take me for, Jim? I know what I saw, clear as day."

"A giant white rabbit."

"Yeah."

"With a pocketwatch. And he said he was late."

"And then a blond girl chased after him."

"Is there a particular reason _why_ you were thinking about _Alice in Wonderland_, Bones?"

"There are tracks, Jim! I'm not hallucinating those, or I'm not a doctor."

"Sulu?"

"There are tracks, but they're huge, captain."

"Sulu found an old Earth pistol, too. Six rounds, lead bullets, kind of like the one my old grandfather had back in Georgia."

"Sulu found a pistol?"

"Lt. Sulu, where did you discover such an object?"

"It was lying around. I think it was under a rock, to be honest, because it was all covered in dirt and some pebbles got into it. But I cleaned it up, it's in beautiful condition, and it fires great! Kicks to the left a little, but that's easily corrected. Actually, I've always wanted one for my collection."

"Wait wait wait. You _fired_ the thing?"

"I wanted to see if it was working, captain."

"My crew's gone insane," the captain groaned and buried his head into his arms. "Since when did you go all trigger happy?"

"There's no one around, sir. I didn't think it'd be a problem. I've been target shooting before."

"Ever gone rabbit hunting?"

"Doctor, I do not believe it is wise to attempt to kill any life forms on this planet."

"Spock, you told me there wasn't anything. What the hell happened? Nevermind, don't answer that. Okay, so. I'll beam down to the planet. Spock's gonna stay here. Sulu, you stay where you are, I'll beam down to your coordinates. Don't shoot me or anything. Bones, you follow the white rabbit."

Lt. Sulu snickered. "Whatever you do, doctor, don't take the red pill."

"What?"

"It's nothing, Bones. Actually, if you meet Morpheus, try taking the pills at the same time. I wonder what'd happen."

"Probably get sucked into an alternate dimension."

"That is the last thing I need on my hands—another dimensional shift." The captain glanced at me. "Alright, I'm heading out. Oh and Bones?"

"What."

"There is no spoon."

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

--

"Spock!"

"Lt. Sulu, this is the bridge."

"Beam me up! Get Chekov and beam me up! Beam me up beam me up!!"

Lt. Sulu appeared on the transporter pad mid-sprint, wearing a long black Terran robe commonly referred to as a trenchcoat, dark optical lenses referred to as sunglasses, holding a katana.

"Are you okay, Sulu?" Lt. Chekov asked eagerly.

"Report, Lt. Sulu."

The lieutenant was breathing heavily.

"I was," he gasped for breath. "After the captain beamed down, he went to go find McCoy. Took my pistol with him. Anyway, I was walking along, found this katana, and this stuff," he motioned to his apparel, "then all of a sudden Agent Smith came out of nowhere and started beating me up." The lieutenant felt his ribs and winced. "Got a few good punches and kicks in before I sliced him up into little ribbons.

"And then, just like in the vid, he just materialized back together, like he was made of nothing. He even flickered with that kanji computer code they use! None of this is physically possible."

I could almost hear Lt. Chekov's thoughts, a garbled thread of Russian, Federation Standard, and equations, calculating different theories of possibilities.

"And then, just to top it off, a samurai appeared! I think it was Kikuchiyo from that vid, _Seven Samurai_. He just charged at me, screaming at the top of his lungs. There was no way I could take him with a katana, so I tried my phaser, but it didn't work. That's when I called you to beam me up. There was no way I could win against that mofo."

He turned to Lt. Chekov.

"You got any bright ideas, Pasha?"

"_Ya dumayu_, I am thinking that this is all in your head."

"Believe me, I didn't imagine this."

"_Nyet, nyet_, that is not my meaning. You are thinking of the _Matrix_ and Kurosawa, correct? Then it appears." Lt. Chekov looked to me. "We and Sulu were watching old wids late after shift. These people who are attacking, they are from the films. Other than that, I do not know. I am not so familiar with the physics of telepathy," he shrugged. "But if they are draining your phaser, it must be wery high energy cost."

"If that is the case, we must inform the captain immediately. Lieutenants, if you would accompany me to the bridge. Mr. Sulu, you will have to postpone your visit to the Sickbay. Any information you can provide is of vital importance."

--

"Well, they sure as hell aren't hallucinations."

The captain sounded dazed.

"We have confirmed this through the account of Lt. Sulu as well, captain."

"Yeah, well _my_ hallucination decided to plant one right on my jaw. And the other one... Spock? Spock? I'm gettin' lots of static. Can you turn it up?"

"We are both already at maximum, captain. According to Lt. Chekov's calculations, communications will continue to deteriorate. The cause seems to be a power field on the surface of the planet. Sensors are showing strange readings emanating from the planet's surface."

"Specify."

"A highly sophisticated type of energy is draining our power and increasing in strength. This is beginning to effect our communications. We have reason to believe that it has already effected your weapon, captain. Is there any energy left in your phaser cartridge?"

"No. Shit. This energy thing, does it have one source? Can you pinpoint it?"

"Affirmative, there is only one source. It is possible that it is beneath the surface of the planet. Patterns indicate some sort of industrial activity."

"Industrial? That's kind of weird. I think we should beam down a security squad."

"I do not think that is prudent, captain. Lt. Chekov and I have theorized that the appearances of these life forms are based on your and the landing party's thoughts. We have also detected slight traces of some form of psychedelic drug which induces a subtle shift in thought patterns. Additional crewmembers will complicate the situation and add to the chaos."

"I'm doped up? Well at least _something_ good's come from this," the captain muttered.

"As I am not affected by Terran hallucinogens, I will beam down."

"What? Spock, stay up there, I need you on my ship."

"I may better serve you and the crew of the _Enterprise_ by beaming down, captain. You cannot sway me in this matter."

_Entreat me not to leave thee__._

--

"Why the hell did you have to develop some chivalry complex? You fucking _moron!_ What the fuck were you thinking? What the fuck were you thinking? _You_ were the one who thought all this shit was real, and then you decide it's some messed up vision? Fuck you, bastard, _fuck you_."

The doctor lay lifeless in the captain's arms.

The captain and I had arrived in time to witness a black knight atop a black horse plunge his jousting stick straight through the heart of the doctor. Death was immediate. The captain responded by drawing Lt. Sulu's pistol and firing at the dark knight. The horse panicked at the sound of the firearm threw his rider off. The knight and his armor clattered to the ground.

Yeoman Barrows, somehow dressed in extravagant Terran Medieval-era regalia, was sobbing hysterically, clinging to the captain.

"It's my fault," she repeated, a litany of guilt and hysteria. "It never would have happened if it weren't for me!"

The captain lost all patience.

"Yeoman," he grabbed her. "Shut up. Shut up. We're stuck in some deep shit, we can't get back to the _Enterprise_, so you've got to stop crying and start thinking. Get that ridiculous hat off—you're not a fucking fairy tale princess. You're a member of Starfleet, so snap the fuck out if it."

She looked at the captain, shocked. The captain had his emotions submerged, a river crashing against the dam he had erected in the space of four seconds. His eyes blazed.

"A-aye sir," she stammered.

"Spock," he ordered and pointed at the dead knight.

I immediately took tricorder readings and spoke as I interpreted the results. The captain's emotions were pressing, demanding answers, a reason for death, a person to blame. I could barely detect the undertow of grief over the roar of his anger.

_no reason no blame no point no meaning no life no smile no reason no life no bones no dust no ashes no doctor no brother no life no bones no win no one no reason_

"Though the appearance is humanoid, this was never a sentient creature. The scans indicate that the cell structure of this specimen is homogenous. Skin, eye, muscle, bone tissue are all from the same cellular casting, and in key aspects resembles the cells of the plant life here as well. You reported bird sightings—it is likely that they are from the same biological mold. All of these objects, including the extensive landscape in which we are standing is manufactured by an elaborate underground industrial complex."

_Spock. Has been and always will be. Order from chaos, reason in madness._

"Some machine is spitting out almost real crap. And this one might not be sentient, but how many brain cells do you need to get on a horse and charge with a stick. But some of the other shit here, it's sentient. Just take my word for it."

_no bones no heart no life no love no smile no reason no bones no dust no life_

"Then the technology on this planet far surpasses any alien technology we have encountered, if it is able to mechanically produce sentience. You are certain that these beings you met had all the faculties necessary? Is it not possible that they were defined by a single attribute? Lt. Sulu also encountered seemingly sentient beings, but analysis revealed that they were an embodiment of a few definitive characteristics that he associated with them.

_Focus, Jim. Breathe in. Out. Hope. Mom said there was hope even in death. Born in a lightning storm. Bones defies odds. Space is death. Space is a miracle._

"Maybe you're right. It doesn't really matter. But I want to know why the fuck these things are appearing at all. And why these _particular_ things?"

"They, whoever 'they' may be, have some way of reading your mind. What were you thinking of before you came across these beings?"

Some things seemed to fall into place for the captain.

"I was thinking about this idiot senior in high school. I was a freshman. Finnegan. He used to beat the shit out of me, fight real dirty too. And," the captain paused. "There he is. Stay here, Spock. I really need to go kill something."

--

"We've only just discovered that you do not understand all this. These experiences were intended to amuse you," the humanoid smiled placidly.

"You thought this was _amusing_? You pump the air with psychedelics, create our living nightmares, and this was supposed to be fucking _amusing_? I watched my best friend get speared with a fucking stick and you thought I'd find that _fun_? What kind of sick freak are you?'

"But none of this is permanent, captain! Here you only have to imagine your fondest wishes, either old ones which you wish to relive or new ones anything at all. Fear, love, triumph, grief, anything that pleases can be made to happen."

"Well isn't it just my luck that the playground turns into a horror show."

"No, no, captain. We will make amends towards you. This entire planet was constructed for our race of place to come and play," the humanoid said with obvious relish.

The captain breathed in _don't hope don't hope don't hope. Fuck it._

"What I want is my best friend back. You don't happen to make resurrection fantasies come to life, do you?"

"What the hell are you talking about, Jim? I'm right here, you big idiot."

The doctor walked out of the bushes, accompanied by two attractive females wearing strange apparel. Yeoman Barrows was giving the women an unfriendly look.

The captain's jaw dropped.

"Pick up your jaw off the floor, you look like a fish," the doctor laughed. He immediately disentangled himself and embraced the captain.

The captain returned the embrace fiercely, then pushed the doctor back. He wore a wide grin. _Space is a miracle_.

"So. You've been keeping busy."

"They've got a huge factory complex down there that can build or do anything you damn want. It's amazing!"

"And how do you explain them, Leonard?" Yeoman Barrows asked, nodding towards the females.

"Oh, them. Well, damn funny story, really. I was thinkin' about a little cabaret me and some of my friends went to when we graduated Med School. This little place was out there on Rigel II and uh, there were these two girls in a chorus line. That show—"

The captain cleared his throat pointedly. The doctor remembered himself.

"I guess I won't go into details, but here they are. I can't even pronounce their names properly."

There was a pause. Yeoman Barrows looked at him expectantly.

"I am on shore leave," he said defensively.

"And so am I," she returned.

"Yeah, so you are." The doctor looked at the two cabaret girls with some regret. "Well girls, I guess you can turn something up."

The females immediately attached themselves to Mr. Rodriguez and myself, to the captain's amusement and my dismay.

"Captain," the humanoid said, still jovial, "we regret that you've been made uncomfortable. Think of anything you want, and we'll do everything in our power to make it real."

"Thanks, but I really don't need any blasts from the past. Not unless you could bring back Vulcan or something," he said in undertone. "But my crew still really needs shore leave, so if you can make something happen along those lines—"

"We will take every precaution to ensure that this is the best shore leave they have ever had!"

"Good to hear. Spock, you take care of everything. Bones, Yeoman Barrow, you guys have fun."

"Hold on a minute, Jim, where're you going?"

"You know me. I get antsy and all jittery. I gotta get some air."

A Terran motorcycle appeared. The captain's eyes glazed over.

"I'm gonna go for a ride. You guys have fun, and don't stay up for me."

_Entreat me not to leave thee, and to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go__._

I followed my orders and carried out my duties.


	44. Ch 44

I would kill for the captain.

I have already killed for the captain. I have reflected upon the experience and I do not regret it. If the same set of events were to occur again, I would kill for him again, without hesitation.

I am a Vulcan. Though in our violent past we killed members of our own species without restraint, the philosophy of Surak is clear. One does not kill. Some sects of Vulcans make an exception in the case of self defense. Others unconditionally refuse to kill any living being, self defense or survival of the species notwithstanding.

My father informed me that there are Vulcans who question the morality of my actions on the _Narada_. I eliminated no fewer than fourteen Romulans directly. By setting off the Red Matter, the remainder of the mining crew was killed. The total number of Romulans aboard that vessel is unknown, but I am to be held partially responsible for their deaths. There are some Vulcans who would condemn me for my actions there, for having violated the principles of Surak.

Humans sometimes view justice as though it were a matter of accounting. The Terran culture of the Ancient Egyptians had a goddess Ma'at, and her feather was the measure against which hearts were weighed to determine whether they were worthy for the afterlife. Justice was represented pictorially as an ancient balance, the feather placed on one side, the heart on the other. Thus, to humans, the death of the billions of inhabitants on Vulcan, the lives lost on the U.S.S. _Kelvin_, and the attempt to destroy Terra more than justify the deaths of a few time traveling Romulans. If anything, they demand more Romulan blood to be shed to somehow 'even the score' and make things fair. It is _lex talionis_, "an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth," found even in the ancient Terran Code of Hammurabi.

For Vulcans, the matter no longer belongs strictly the realm of logic, but to tradition and the deep roots of Vulcan culture. What use is it, they ask, to save a remnant of the Vulcan people if the actions required to save that remnant go against everything in which Vulcans believe? Does one sacrifice his _katra_ to save the mere shell of his body? How are Vulcans any different from their savage Romulan relations if equally violent measures were used to preserve the species? They ask if I have not stooped to the base level of the Romulans.

That is not to say that all Vulcans consider my actions in this light. My actions were necessary and in their context, proper. In certain circles, my father tells me that I am regarded with high esteem and honor. Surprisingly, the head of our house, T'Pau, is numbered among them.

I will not apologize for my killings on the _Narada_, nor will I glorify them. What is done is done. An unconditional refusal to kill is illogical. The universal laws of life and evolution mandate that all living creatures strive to live. No creature has the right to extinguish a life if their survival does not depend on it. However, every creature has the right to fight for its existence. Species must survive and if they may, thrive. Vulcans are part of the infinite diversity of the universe.

I cannot offer sufficiently rigorous arguments to justify my behavior with respect to the captain. Those Vulcans who doubt my moral fiber might regard me a traitor if they learned of the extent of my actions on the _Enterprise_. It is doubtful that those who approved of my actions on the _Narada_ would approve of my actions here.

For the life of a species is not at stake. Any argument I make towards the safety of the crew is inadequate, as myself and Lt. Commander Scott are more than capable of commanding the _Enterprise_ when the need arises. The only thing in jeopardy when the captain's life is threatened is simply the captain's life. It is a life I felt thrum under my own fingers as the blood pounded in my hands and I tightened my grip on his throat. I would have killed the captain, if my father had not prevented me.

I have killed for the captain and would do so again. It is likely I will kill again. I have seen death, prevented it, fought it, and at certain moments, created it. Our missions, for reasons unknown, have become increasingly hazardous. Even the routine and seemingly mundane is fraught with danger. And in the midst of these missions, the lifeblood of the captain has become precious to me. I remember clearly the first time I saw red flowing freely from his body and felt pure terror. It is the same terror, I am certain, that Dr. McCoy faces every time the captain stops breathing as the doctor tries to stabilize his vitals.

"Don't you dare die, James Tiberius Kirk. Did you hear that you numbskull idiot? Don't you dare die on me, or I'll go down to hell myself, shake hands with the three headed dog and make a deal with the goddamn devil if that's what it takes."

_W__here thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried; the __Lord__ do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me__._

When did this happen? When did guarding the life of James T. Kirk become an imperative in my life?


	45. Ch 45

_Do not go gentle into that good night_

_By Dylan Thomas_

"That kid's going to be the death of me someday."

The doctor had just dismissed the captain from his regular physical. As the captain has sustained more injuries and undergone more surgeries than one would think possible for a Terran, the doctor determined that it was necessary to closely monitor the captain's physical well being at all times, especially in times of relative calm. The captain protested vainly, but submitted to the doctor's judgment.

"Diagnosis, doctor?"

"Everything's working just fine. We've been worrying over a hill of beans, Spock."

"An intriguing phrase. It is meant to convey that—?"

"We're worrying over nothing. He's as fit as a fiddle, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick, jumpin' over goddamn candlesticks."

I ignored the doctor's bought of poetry.

An older Starfleet officer, a member of the Science Department, entered the Sickbay. The doctor immediately directed him to a biobed and began to take tricorder readings, all the while asking questions of Dr. Tsunemori. He handled his patient gently and firmly, as I have often observed him to do.

"How's the blood pressure been doin'? Been layin' off those baked potatoes you love so much? Turn over for me here and let me have a good ole fashioned listen at your heart. Spock, shouldn't you be on the bridge? Jim'll have my hands if I keep you here when he needs you."

I left as the doctor made some sort of joke. The barking sound of his laughter and Dr. Tsunemori's soft glee filled the Sickbay.

_Do not go gentle into that good night,_

_Old age should burn and rave at close of day;_

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

"M'Benga's feelin' kinda queasy. I'll be doing your physical today, Spock."

"Very well."

Dr. McCoy was surprisingly efficient. He asked only the necessary questions, conducted the physical in a brisk and timely manner. There were no remarks concerning my physiology, no comments about the hue or temperature or possible reptilian origins of my blood, except to make note that my copper levels were unusually low. The doctor prescribed a mineral supplement, to be consumed at two hour intervals for a period of 50 hours.

"Yah, I know you can do that great healing stuff, but even Vulcan bodies can't produce what they aint got. You need copper, and unless you have some new way of combining the atoms in your body to make it, you need to take these supplements."

"Is there any need to modify my diet to ensure that this deficiency does not occur again?"

"Not that I know of. I think your diet's just fine. Problem is, I don't know of any food with enough copper to fill a Vulcan's daily quota. It's not really feasible for you to munch on nuts all the time. Humans get a lot of the iron in their blood by eating meat, but that's not an option for you because you're vegan and iron's useless. Why don't Vulcans have this problem?"

"I hypothesize that this deficiency is somehow caused by my mixed heritage. That seems to be the default answer for most things."

"Maybe among Vulcans, but I'm not so sure. Humans can suffer from iron deficiency, mixed blood or not. My guess is that a lot of Vulcans have copper deficiencies, but they just learn to live with it and cope. It's not life threatening, to a point."

"Doctor, it is not unreasonable for us to assume that this is caused by my physiology."

"It's not unreasonable to assume that it's common among Vulcans, too. They aren't mutually exclusive, ya know. And while you might be used to these direct cause and effect disciplines in science, medicine isn't like that. There's five thousand factors working all at once—sometimes one tiny mechanism breaking down stops the whole thing down the line, sometimes multiple organs fail but a person can still go on living. Bodies are funny like that.

"Anyway, I'll go file this for M'Benga. You'll have to come back later, since he'll do all the questions about your meditative cycles. I'm the surgeon, he's the psychiatrist."

_Though wise men at their end know dark is right,_

_Because their words had forked no lightning they_

_Do not go gentle into that good night._

"Stay with me, Nyota, stay with me—_Bones!_—hey I just called you by your first name so you _have_ to _stay with me!_ To kick my ass or something..."

"Get out of the way, Jim! What the hell happened to her?" the doctor looked at his tricorder. "Chris, get me the adrenaline—"

"We're losing her signal—"

"_Now!_"

"Lieutenant, I'll kill you myself if you don't stay with us—"

"She's stabilizing, heartbeat, brainwaves—"

"I want a drip and some electronodes on her right here—"

"Sir, we have the gurney ready—"

"Pham, load her in. Wheel her to the Sickbay and don't let her sodium and potassium levels spike. I don't want to risk her seizing, the way these readings are going. Spock, you take the conn, I'll let you know how she's doing. Jim, you're coming with me."

"But—"

"Shut up and listen to me. I need to know what the hell happened down there to get her this ripped up, and you're going to fill me in while I prepare for surgery. Got it?"

"Fuck, Leonard! Her heartbeat's skyrocketed again—"

"Get me four CCs of—"

"Mother Askani! She's seizing—"

"Bones—"

"I'm not a damn miracle worker, Jim! Take her off the unit, there's something not right here. Spock, got in and find her."

I connected to Nyota's meld points and promptly lost consciousness.

_Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright_

_Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,_

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

"Why don't you want this child?" the doctor asked Eleen.

"I have never wanted it. I have never desired to be wife of Akaar."

"Alright, I can understand that. But new life is precious thing."

"Precious? What is precious about it? Every day there are women in the tribe who bear children. Some are strong and live, some are weak and die. It is how it has always been, it is how it will always be. I am the wife of Akaar, and I must die. I do not care if the child inside must die with me. I have done my duty, and I will finish it."

"Now hold on a minute there. I find it hard to believe that there aren't any women who are barren, who suffer fertility problems, who want children and can't have them."

"There are such women whose wombs are closed. It is their shame that they are unwilling to bear the child of their husband."

"Unwilling?! It's not a matter of willing or unwilling! There are some women in this universe who would give anything, _anything_ to have a child."

"I do not understand."

"Look, everyone's born with a different body, and no one's perfect. Sometimes that body breaks down in ways that even a doctor can't fix. I've seen a lot of women back on my planet go through that kind of sadness. It's a kind of death, watching that, having to tell them that kind of news. And here you have a perfectly healthy baby boy growing right in you, ready to be born, and you want to go kill it!"

"It is the way of our people, Mac-Coy. I do not fear death."

"Sure, but you hate this baby so much that you're scared of life."

"Our people fear nothing! It is you who fear death, who cannot stand the stench of it. I have seen you, Mac-Coy, your face wild with terror of death."

The doctor grabbed Eleen and shook her.

"And what's so great about it?! What's so great about looking down that dark pit and jumping? I've seen men die in ways you can only imagine, and there is nothing great or noble about it! It's empty and cold and black, there's no warmth of the body, no fighting, no trying. Only a corpse, a cadaver, the decay of cells and the rot.

"Do you know how rare life is in this universe? Do you? There are a million ways to die, and I've seen about half of 'em. But there's only one way to live."

"Doctor, if you desire to persuade the lady, she may be more willing to listen if you lowered your voice."

Dr. McCoy scowled at me. He turned his attention back to Eleen, voice tired but soft.

"At least give your little boy there a chance. Besides," he said with a grim smile, "you might not even survive through labor. I've got nothing to help you out except my brain and two hands."

Both the mother and child survived the ordeal. Eleen named her son after the doctor, calling him Mac-Coy Leonard Akaar.

The doctor was insufferably pleased with himself for several shifts.

_Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,_

_And learned, too late, they grieved it on its way,_

_Do not go gentle into that good night._

"Bones. Bones."

I tried to lead the captain away from the Sickbay, as Dr. McCoy clearly desired solitude, possibly with a bottle of his favorite brand of bourbon. I was not successful in distracting the captain.

"Don't say it, Jim."

"There was nothing you could do. You tried everything. Coriolia just didn't want to hang on."

"Damn waste of a life."

"It's probably not so bad, you know. Death and all."

"Don't get started on that."

"Hey, you're a doctor. You had to accept that—"

"Want to know why my wife divorced me? Handed me my ass and told me to pack it?"

"Um, not really. I just assumed she was a bitch to dump you like that."

As empathetic as the captain is, his tactlessness knows no bounds.

"I loved her once you know. Probably still do. She loved me."

"Well you wouldn'ta gotten married if you didn't love each other at some point."

"We got married during my residency. I worked the emergency room, saw a lot of trauma. Though I have to say, you've done some stuff to yourself that I've aint never seen in my whole career down in that hospital."

The doctor's accent thickened considerably. He poured himself a glass of bourbon and drained the contents.

"You think you aint got time. Try holding together the guts of a man while he's screaming for his goddamn mother, and you're telling him it's just a scratch while the nurse is fucking up the glue that's supposed to put his innards together and the anesthesiologist can't sedate him fast enough and blood is spilling out of every tube the guy's got."

The doctor poured himself another glass. His hands were steady.

"And Jill, I guess I never had time for her neither. What, between the crazy shifts at the hospital and me always tryin' to develop crazy new surgical techniques, there was no way. She thought that when we had Joanna, I'd be at home more, that we'd be a family. I tried, honest to God I really did, but even Joanna wasn't enough to keep me away from that hospital.

"But I loved them. I still loved them more'n they'll know and it was a damn surprise to me when Jill slammed the divorce papers in my face and left me with nothing. Not even goddamn custody rights."

"So screw them. You don't need them."

"Captain—" I warned.

Dr. McCoy sighed and scrubbed at his face. "Jim, this aint something you're gonna understand. You're an orphan, been that way for a while. No friends, no family, no connections that tie you down. Me, other folks, well, things work differently. We can't just up and burn bridges because we're young and reckless.

"I hate to sound like some old man, but maybe when you're older, you'll get it. A man can get royally screwed and still love the people who did it ta him."

"No. She didn't respect what you do, she didn't understand what drives you, and when she finally found out, she decided to ditch you for it!"

"I married her. A wife's entitled to some time with her husband. Daughter's entitled to have a daddy that's around to see her grow. I couldn't give that," the doctor laughed bitterly. "Like I couldn't give Lt. Coriolias a reason to stick around."

"That's not your responsibility."

"I know. That don't change how it feels though."

_Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight_

_Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,_

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

"You talk like a hick when you're drunk."

"That's okay, because you always sound like an idiot. I can be magnanimous."

"Magnanimous? Have you be hanging out with Spock and picking upon his humongous vocabulary?"

"The doctor and I are currently working on a project, along with one of the engineers on board. The doctor would like to make some improvements to the tricorders."

"Just because we aren't all baby prodigy captains doesn't mean we don't know Federation Standard. I actually graduated from all my damn schools, instead of getting pushed through the fast track by old man Pike."

"But you _never_ say words like 'magnanimous.'"

"I was not aware that you closely monitored the doctor's speech patterns, captain."

"Will you cut that out, Spock? For God's sakes, it's always The Doctor for me and The Captain for Jim. It won't kill your Vulcan brain to use our names. Leonard."

"Bones."

"I only put up with that from you because you won't quit it. Damnit, man, do you _think_ of us as The Doctor and The Captain?"

"I see no reason why this practice is objectionable."

Dr. McCoy snorted. "We're your friends, Spock. You know what that means, or is it too emotional for you? Familiars, comrades, compatriots—"

"Buddies."

"Jesus, Jim, what kind of a juvenile vocabulary do you have? Do you even know how to read?"

"Of course I know to read! You were the one that said I was a prodigy."

"Yeah, a prodigy with the lexis of a four year old."

"Shit, where do you _get_ these words? Lexis?"

"You may be able to gather from context that it means—"

"Vocab, yeah, I know. I'm not an idiot, Spock."

The doctor and I gave the captain similar looks of skepticism.

"Look, maybe you guys have time to read the fucking dictionary, but I sure as hell don't. People understand what I'm trying to say—"

"People understand what I'm trying to say most of the time," he corrected, "so I'm just fine keeping my _lexis_ the way it is."

There was a pause.

"At least I don't sound like a hick," the captain added lamely.

"Unbelievable."

_And you, my father, there on the sad height,_

_Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray._

_Do not go gentle into that good night._

_Rage, rage against the dying of the light._


	46. Ch 46

Leisure. Among Vulcans there is no such concept. Perhaps in the days before Surak, Vulcans knew what it was to be leisurely, but today it is utterly alien. Such inefficiency is illogical. One performs tasks because that there is an objective to be fulfilled, a goal to be attained. One optimizes one's means to optimize the number of ends attained.

On Vulcan, my father determined my schedule until he deemed me fit to order my own priorities. I recall that in the first seven years of my life, out of deference to my mother, my father included an interval of time in which she chose a certain activity that she and I carried out together. She often referred to this part of my day as "playtime." Every half-year, my father shortened the period that I spent with my mother.

He did not notify her of this change the first time the interval was shortened. An argument ensued, wherein my mother became extremely upset. I do not recall the words that were said, as my memory centers were not yet fully developed. It is not difficult to deduce, however, that my father likely considered my mother's choice of activities unsuitable for a Vulcan child. The little I have observed of Terran child rearing and the few books I have read on the subject matter indicate that Terrans emphasize the emotional, rather than intellectual, development of the infant. Indeed, scholarly studies agree that it is necessary for Terran parents to be affectionate and loving towards their child, else the child has a high risk of developing serious psychological instabilities. The correlation is not direct, but it is statistically significant.

My schedule was designed to accommodate the developmental needs of my intellect. In my infant years, it was devoted mainly to key meditative exercises. My instructors guided me through these by means of telepathy, and I became intimately aware of the structure of my brain and body. At the age of 1.2 years, I learned to control the direction of my thoughts and master such basic concepts as conjunction, disjunction, material conditional, biconditional, negation, cause, effect, contradiction, and paradox. A Terran equivalent would be that of an infant exploring its surrounding environment using its sensory organs. While Terran children naturally look outward, Vulcan children are trained to look inward.

The meditative exercises became increasingly complex as I explored the various systems of my body, beginning with the musculoskeletal system. I gained awareness of my endocrine system last, as the hormones released can effect an individual's emotions. I was in my fourth year before I was able to suppress my emotions to the satisfaction of my instructors. Most Vulcan children master the skill by their third year. I gained tenuous mastery only in my sixth year. The reason for my "emotional retardation" is clear. While the Vulcan traits are dominant, I still inherited human biological traits from my mother.

My progress in logical disciplines exceeded the expectations of my instructors. During examinations, I was often able to solve the problems faster than those in my age group by a substantial margin. The instructors assumed that because I was having difficulty with emotional suppression, I must face similar difficulties in mastering logic. After they reviewed my test scores and found that this was not the case, they further scrutinized my results. I was asked to provide a description of my thought processes. They assessed that my logic was rigorous, but my method unconventional. The instructors warned my father that my unorthodox solutions might later lead to severe fallacies in both logic and judgment, but my mother prevented them from taking any measures to mold my thought patterns along conventional lines. She protested that the educational system was stifling my human curiosity and creativity.

My mother encouraged me to utilize my imagination beyond the strictures placed by the school. She allowed me to use her account to browse the extensive Federation databases. My father disapproved, as he thought that access to information ought to be restricted. He once quoted the Terran poet Alexander Pope to justify his position, saying "A little learning is a dang'rous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring: There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, And drinking largely sobers us again." My curiosity had already caused more than a few disciplinary issues and reprimands for "impudent questions." However, his use of obtuse Terran poetry was lost on me, and I dismissed my father's disapproval as illogical. I simply learned to be more discrete.

My interest in computers was born from my efforts to conceal the logs recording my activity. As I browsed the forums on the nets and read articles, I endeavored to teach myself programming. At the age of five years, I conducted an experiment, which resulted in a successful hack of the teachers' terminals. They quickly discovered what I had done, as my strategy to breach their security relied more on brute force rather than delicately exploiting the many weaknesses in their system. My parents were immediately notified. My father made his displeasure known on no uncertain terms, and I was severely punished for violating the rules. It was during the period of my punishment that I finally mastered emotional suppression.

However, my mother persuaded my father to provide formal courses in programming, computer architecture, and nanoelectronics. I also received my own account on the Federation database upon achieving mastery of emotional suppression. Precautions were taken—the content was limited to science articles. Nonetheless, I read widely and constantly. Despite the fact that I curbed the wanderings of my imagination, my curiosity could not be controlled. I sought new ideas, new theories, new perspectives, new discoveries.

--

"A love of learning is not a bad thing, Sarek."

"Spock does not follow any of the normal developmental patterns for Vulcan children. At this age, he should be interacting with his peers to gain knowledge of acceptable social behaviors, rather than using his time to read about botanical evolution on Kyor Seven or the theorems of Fuzzy logic. The instructors have advised a session with the counselor."

"No."

"My wife—"

"Absolutely not. I will not have them interfere with his natural growth by telepathically shuffling his thoughts around! No counselor is going to _touch_ our son's mind and force him to be something he isn't!"

"My wife, what is best for a Vulcan—"

"He's _my_ son too. The others pick on him because of _me_, because I'm human. That's why he doesn't want to be with them, and I don't blame him."

"Vulcan children are taught to respect all life forms. They would not single out our son and subject him to ridicule for his unique biology."

"Theory and reality are two very different things. You know this as a scientist! And they might be Vulcan, but they're still children. Children can be some of the most vicious creatures in the universe."

"You speak from your experience educating Terran children."

"Sarek, I have eyes. I have ears. I know what people think. I know what they're saying between the lines. Please, let him be. He might not show it, but I know it's hurting him right now to be alone like this. And he knows that you especially want to change him, even though he tries so hard."

"You are projecting your own feelings onto our son, my wife. You cannot possibly know that this is what he thinks."

"Let him escape for an hour or two. Would it do any harm?"

"Allowing him to indulge in such habits will lead to future negative consequences. Our son is a Vulcan, and as a Vulcan he must submit to its standards."

"Our son is half human. He'll have to make his own standards. And whatever he chooses them to be, I will always love him."

--

My reading and supplemental courses had another effect. I found that the course material of my age group did not suit my intellectual needs. I requested to be placed in an accelerated program of study or transferred to another institution that could better challenge me. My request was received, processed, deliberated, and conditionally approved. The board stipulated that I must exercise complete control over my emotions and attend supplementary meditative sessions in order to remain enrolled in the advanced curriculum.

At the time of my decision, I thought the board required this of me because of my past record and emotional retardation. I had not considered the additional fact that my new, older peers would have a higher degree of meditative maturity. Nor had I taken into account that I would be regularly confronted by those students who, resentful of the fact that I was gifted in logical disciplines while their own mental faculties were at best middling and at worst mediocre, insulted me in hopes of producing any emotional response. They sought to affirm their sense of worth by finding one of my inferior qualities and ridiculing it.

This became something of a sport. They found various ways in which I was dissimilar, but the taunts did not affect my emotional state as the accusations were preposterous. My height, my unusual paleness, the smooth texture of my skin, the distinctly Terran line formations on my palms, were all pronounced deficient. It was only when they observed the unusually expressive nature of my eyes that the subject of rampant emotionalism was raised, and subsequently the subject of my mother.

I endured the comments concerning my eyes. I researched ways by which to control the messages they somehow conveyed. The attempts to implement those strategies failed, for the most part. During my time on Terra, I learned that few Terrans have mastered the ability of completely masking their thoughts.

I refused to tolerate the comments concerning my mother. Whatever hold I had on my emotions was gone and I attacked Sy'thlon decisively. I broke his nose, mandible, left ulna, three vertebrae, and his cranium in four places. The instructors and my father were disturbed by my outburst. Afterwards, I was shaken by the intensity of my own emotions, and those feelings were exacerbated by my telepathic contact with Sy'thlon. Disgust had permeated his thoughts. It appeared that his household considered my father's decision to marry my mother an egregious lapse in judgment. My mind frantically asked a chain of logically related questions.

On what grounds did my father, a Vulcan, marry my mother, a Terran?

If my father desired to continue the line of our house in the Vulcan tradition, it does not stand to reason that he would choose to mate with a human. The probability of a successful Vulcan-Terran birth is 4.3%, the probability of that child surviving beyond its first quarter-year is 2.7%. My mother suffered several miscarriages before she gave birth to me.

If my father desired someone to continue in his intellectual footsteps, he should not have elected a hybrid with unpredictable biology and equally unknown rational capacity for the task. My enhanced scientific acumen was totally unforeseen and in many respects unforeseeable.

If my father desired to conduct an experiment in xenobiology, it was unethical of him to marry my mother and keep on her on Vulcan under pretenses. If he desired to learn more of Terran culture as the Vulcan ambassador to that planet, it was not necessary for him to participate in their marriage rituals to gain an understanding of the species. If he was required by the Terrans to marry one of their kind, there arose additional questions as to why he would volunteer for such a post. If he desired companionship, he should have chosen a Vulcan, as Terrans are not capable of initiating telepathic contact and bonding with a Terran is a dubious enterprise.

If there was no valid justification for the union between my mother and father, was there any logic in my existence? Did my father betray the principles of Surak, the foundation of Vulcan, in marrying my mother? Was my very presence in the universe a result of an "egregious lapse" in his judgement?

Thus, when I asked my father to explain his marriage to my mother, his answer was reassuring.

"It was logical."

He did not explain how it was logical, but that sentence was enough. My father was the most logical entity I knew, and I trusted that his word was truth.

My mother, I think, was secretly pleased by my error in restraint. She took me aside when I came home and applied Terran rationale to the situation.

"Sometimes you just have to put your foot done and show them you won't let yourself get bullied around. You did a wonderful job standing up for me," she quickly embraced me and kissed me on the cheek. "And for yourself."

I was baffled. My father quickly escorted me to my quarters without explaining my mother's meaning and helped me initiate a deep meditation routine. The following day, we received news that I was not expelled from the institution. Those who participated in the incident were properly reprimanded. When I entered the console stage, my tormentors were subdued. From that time forwards, I was not subjected to their direct attacks again.

Nevertheless, the damage had been done. In provoking an emotional reaction from me, Sy'thlon unwittingly achieved another objective. I was ostracized. Few voluntarily entered into communication with me, lest they become the new object of scorn and derision through association.

To make my isolation complete, the house of T'Pring, my bondmate, requested that the healers sever the mental link. They did not desire that their daughter be bonded with one who already exhibited rampancy. As it was within their rights to demand a severance, my father complied. A few houses came forward to offer their daughters in T'Pring's stead. I believe they considered the reputation and power of my household to outweigh what some considered the degradation of being bonded with a half breed. My father, in an unusual step, politely refused their offers. I was to find my own mate—to choose, as he said, my own path.

I chose the Vulcan way. I chose to honor my father and his people, despite the fact that they did not grant equal honor to me. Attending the Vulcan Science Academy became an all consuming goal.

When it came time to apply to that institution for my vocational education, my mother feared that I would not be accepted due to my heritage. Throughout my childhood and my teenage years, my reputation and mixed blood preceded me. My father thought it prudent to cultivate multiple options and suggested that I submit an application to Starfleet. It was an acceptable, if unconventional, career choice for Vulcans. My father had several colleagues who were officers in Starfleet and they were reportedly satisfied with their occupations. They often visited my father and prepared meals for us as guests. The tales they related of their scientific explorations and new worlds were fascinating. As my mother would say, the accounts 'captured' my imagination.

"You make them sound like old Earth sailors," Nyota once commented. "The sailors would go out to sea and come back to shore, briefly, with wonderful stories of exotic countries, beautiful treasures, and the thrilling dangers of the ocean. They'd stay on land long enough to tell their stories and then leave, drawn by the sound of the seagulls. Entranced by the rolling waters. It was a lonely life," she glanced at me. "But it was the only life they thought worth living."

_As always, whatever you choose to be, you will have a proud mother_.

My application to both Starfleet and the Vulcan Science Academy were accepted. However, when I chose to reject the offer of the Science Academy, my father reacted disproportionately. I was taken aback by the force of his reaction, as he had originally suggested that I also consider Starfleet. In the ensuing discussion, I argued that he was not acting logically, since if I had not been accepted to the Science Academy, he would have sent me to Starfleet with his full approval and blessing. For some reason, he would not hear my words. With a few choice words and a telepathic strike, my father effectively disowned me.

I would not admit it then, but I was devastated.

I responded to this new isolation as I always had in the past. I submerged myself in my intellectual pursuits, in a continuous search for new ideas. Terra was an ideal place for such an exploration. Everything was utterly alien.

I only learned of the legacy of Sybok much later, shortly after I learned the real reason why my father married my mother.

We are currently en route to the Romulan Neutral Zone. Starfleet has received some information regarding possible military activity and have ordered us to patrol the area. I should be checking the weapons systems, running maintenance and updating the ship's computers, testing the sensors, securing the laboratories and running the final stages of my uGNA experiment. Instead, I am sitting in the captain's quarters.

"Check," he grins.

I raise my eyebrow. I have him mated in three turns.

"Damn. I should have seen that coming," Jim frowns. "Wanna rematch?"

I have 17.3 hours of work to complete. ETA for the Romulan Neutral Zone is 22.9 hours.

"That is acceptable, captain."

He grins again and begins to reset the board.

This is what Terrans refer to as 'leisure.'


	47. Ch 47

"The outposts on Asteroids Two, Three, and Eight are not responding sir. Outpost Five reports that it was in the middle of a transmission with Three when it suddenly cut out."

"Do they have _any_ info on what could have caused this? We're talking about twenty highly networked, extremely secure military outposts here. They don't just go silent."

"The attack, if this was caused by an attack, happened so quickly that they didn't have time to send out any sort of distress call or forward any information," Nyota frowned.

"This may not be an attack, captain. Inter-asteroid communications networking is notoriously fickle. The outposts may be undamaged."

"Three outposts, Spock? And all within a few AUs of each other? _And_ weird activity going on behind the Neutral Zone? I'm not betting on a giant router overload. What're your sensors saying?"

"We are too far out of range to utilize any of the detailed scanning equipment. However, initial sweeps of the areas indicate that the asteroids are still intact."

"That doesn't tell me a whole lot." The captain looked at me. "Oh, no, I know that look on your face. Come on, spit it out. What's weird this time."

"Technically, these scans only reveal that the mass of the asteroid is still in same region. There is some evidence to suggest, however, that mass is simply that—mass. The spectra we received of Asteroid Two suggests that it is no longer an asteroid. Rather, it resembles millions of particles concentrated in an asteroid shaped cloud."

"_What_? You're telling me that Asteroid Two, a fucking solid iron chunk in space shielded by castrodinium, has been pulverized?"

"Disintegrated would be a more accurate term, captain."

"Captain, Commander Tzu-Hanson of Asteroid Four reports that it is under attack."

I immediately commed the Science Department. "Every long range scanner is to be trained on the area of Outpost Four. Data is to be forwarded to my console immediately upon receipt. This is our top priority—"

"Sulu, Chekov, get us there fast."

"—Dr. Ahuja, take high definition energy readings of both the outpost and note an anomalous readings in the area. Dr. Palepu, Dr. Krivorotov, and Dr. Clark, focus our gamma-ray, x-ray, radio, and infrared telescopes on the region—"

"Aye, sir," they said, already working on their respective computer terminals.

"—using Asteroid Four as central point. Make a recording of all activity as soon as the lenses are adjusted. Give me data and analysis as soon the unknown energy source appears."

"Ready guys?"

"Almost, keptan."

"Wait! They've opened a channel sir, broadcasting video and all data."

"Put it on the screen, Uhura. Spock, are you getting all this?"

"Affirmative."

"Chekov, keep plotting the fastest course you can to the outposts, and Sulu, get ready to punch it on my command."

"_Enterprise_!" An elderly commander came into view.

The outpost was burning. Evidently the machine used some high energy beam to penetrate the defensive shielding. Another round would undoubtedly disintegrate the asteroid and everything on it.

"Commander, what happened?"

"They came out of nowhere," he coughed.

Spock \\: Standard frame of reference, spherical coordinates (ρ, θ, φ). (0, 0, 0) = Outpost 4, (x, 0, 0) = Enterprise

Ahuja \\: Unidentified energy source = (0.75 AU, -2.59, -0.41), d^2T/dt^2 = 13.9 Kelvin/s^2.

Palepu \\: No significant gamma ray readings.

Spock \\: Ahuja: Is d^2T/dt^2 correct? It is not dT/dt?

Ahuja \\: d^2T/dt^2. In 34 seconds, T = 5.6 × 10^4 K

"The first round hit the entire asteroid, blasted through our deflector field, and fried our shields completely. It's superheated the iron. We won't last must longer even if they don't hit us again."

Krivorotov \\: Slight radio image (ρ, θ, φ) = (0.72 AU, -2.66, -0.40). May be noise, growing in intensity.

Clark \\: Unidentified infrared source = (0.74 AU, -2.60, -0.43), d^2T/dt^2 = 13.6 K/s^2. Ast4 = 3.3 μm. unID IR radius enlarging, d^2r/ dt^2 = 3.15 × 10^2 m/s^2

"Everything's burning here, most of our instruments are useless. Only thing we've got is a telescope scanning the sky and this black box communicator."

"Sir! It's appeared again!"

"Do you see it, captain?! Do you see it? On the telescope, like a blanket of high energy particles—"

"Tzu!"

The connection was cut.

Spock \\: ALL—Track any signal in (0.75 AU, -2.63, -0.41) and the surrounding area. Palepu: Use Visible/IR to monitor the plasma field, especially rate of dissipation.

"What the _hell_ was that and where did it come from? Did anyone see a ship? Spock?"

"Asteroid Four was the target of an extremely powerful plasma weapon. Our sensors indicate that the plasma originated from a single source as a concentrated beam, somewhat similar to a bolt of lightning. However, as it traveled through space, its radius rapidly expanded until the beam became an enveloping field. The energy spread likewise, slightly concentrated in the center of the growing circle. The radius at the time of impact was significantly larger than the maximum width of the asteroid and despite significant plasma dissipation, it was sufficient to finally disintegrate the outpost."

"Where'd it come from."

"Relative to our position and the former outpost, at the time the weapon was fired, it was located approximately 151º counterclockwise, on a plane 23º below us. It was 0.75 AUs from the outpost."

"0.75 AUs?! That's gotta be on a ship, there's no way this shit was caused by some freakish nova event or cosmic windstorm. How the hell did they not see a giant fucking energy bomb from 0.75 AUs!"

"The weapon is somehow able to charge its source material, likely a gas, to 56000 Kelvin in the space of one minute."

The captain's eyes widened. "Shit."

I nodded. "Readings indicate that temperature does not increase linearly, but parabolically. That is why the plasma did not appear—the gas had not yet been 'accelerated' to its plasma state."

"But then the ship—"

"The fact that the vessel itself did not register in our preliminary investigations indicates one of two things. First, it may be running on minimal energy. It must be a small vessel to have such low energy consumption, and probably without warp capability. The ship was able to hide from sensor sweeps because it blended with the background noise the pervades space. If this is the case, we should be able to track the vessel if we search for it deliberately.

"Alternately, it is using some unknown cloaking technology to hide its energy signature. Such a device cannot, however, contain all the energy seeping from the ship. Where there is mass, where there is energy, there is a method of detection. Our difficulty would be one of finding the ship under these time constraints."

"Fuck. Either way, we have a stealth ship."

"Correct, captain."

"Sulu, go to Warp 3 and get us in the area of Four."

"Only Warp 3, sir?"

"That puts ETA at what? Ten minutes?"

Lt. Chekov nodded.

"I need time to track that ship and figure out as much as I can about it. And we need time to prepare."

"Aye, sir." Lt. Sulu said, keying in the sequence.

"Uhura, ship-wide."

"Done, sir."

"Attention. We're powering down to just essentials."

Ahuja \\: unID E leaves trail, though dT/dt = -60 K/s. H 111 M 14. May lose trail in 8 min, object signature weak implies size v. small.

"We're shutting down all decks, everything except weapons, engines, impulse, emergency systems, sensors, computers, and Sickbay. That means no life support and no grav on Decks 4-25, so find some other place to shack up."

Clark \\: unID IR H 111 M 14, dT/dt = -55 K/s. Compare Frame00 to Frame 18, unID IR T likely plateau at 478 K.

Palepu \\: Plasma completely dissipated. Final r = 9.2 × 10^3 km, final range = 1.4 AU. Plasma e- d = 4 × 10^23 e-/cm^3

"Everyone's on NVGs. Scotty, power down the warp engines as soon as we drop to sublight. We're on communications and energy blackout until I say otherwise."

Linscun \\: Spectra of (0.75 ± 0.5 AU, -2.63 ± 0.74, -0.41 ± 0.38), He, Cr, Mn, Fe, Ni, Cu, Zn, Na, P, Si, Uuh, Pt, Al, U, Cm, Ttr, DLi, XFr, Cs, H, Kr. Trace quantities of C, N, O, suggestions of H2O.

"This is taking effect in eight minutes, so get a move on. Captain out."

"Sir?" I inquired.

"Two can play at the low energy game. If he's not looking closely, we'll look like an old supply ship, come to restock the outposts. I don't want to give away more than I have to. Do you know what's out there yet?"

"I do not believe that the vessel has any sort of cloaking device. It is a low energy stealth ship with a powerful plasma weapon. Certain of our sensors have been able to track its movement, but if we are to engage it in battle, we will need a more reliable method to know the ship's whereabouts. They have an advantage over us, captain."

"Where's it going."

"Heading 111 Mark 14."

The captain let out a string of curses. "_Romulus_?!"

--

"Commander. A reading on our sensors."

"What is it, Uhlan."

"A supply ship, it seems. An older model, limited weapons capabilities. It is approaching the destroyed outpost."

The commander's young face became thoughtful, but was unmarred by any sign of worry. "That is no supply ship. Sublieutenant Tovak reported that the Earth outpost made a distress call to a ship—this ship that has arrived."

"Then let us destroy it, so our victory may be complete! Our weapon is successful beyond the Praetor's dreams."

"No."

"Commander—"

"Patience, Uhlan. We will first see what their commander does, then I will order the attack. Continue on our present course, but reduce speed. Their sensors will not be able to detect us at this level."

--

"Uhura, do you hear anything yet?"

"Negative, captain. The trail's gone cold."

"Scotty, how're the little trackers coming along?"

"It's a tricky job, captain. These communicators here aren't meant to broadcast beyond a few thousand kilometers. Yeh're askin' me to give you up to 1.7 AU, and I can give yeh that, but then we run into problems with their battery life. It'd only last about 20 minutes at that rate."

"Can't you attach a power source to extend the transmitting time?"

"Aye, at the risk of overloadin' these delicate circuits. Then yeh've got nothin'. My lads're working on cushioning the impact and sticking it, since you want to blast them from the photon torpedoes."

"Weapons, how many casings have you got?"

"Twenty so far, captain."

"Scotty, how many communicators are you wiring up?"

"I might be able ta give yeh 37, captain, but not more. I've already busted quite a few tryin' ta get it just the way yeh want it."

"Get them up and loaded in 15 minutes."

"A man can only work so fast, captain!"

"Not good enough, Scotty. We're sitting ducks here. I need to be able to _see_ where the fuck those guys are. Kirk out."

The captain turned towards another engineer who was modifying the displays.

"Done yet?"

"Practically, sir. I just have to hook up the projector and Mr. Spock'll compile the controls program and it should display all the data you feed into it."

"Good. Who was the genius at Starfleet that decided to make all our view panels two dimensional? How'm I supposed to battle in space—three dimensions! woah!—track the other ship's movements and all that important shit, staring at a flat screen?"

"It was an unfortunate oversight, captain. There have been very few battles fought in pure empty space in the history of the Federation. Most battles fought in interstellar wars are centered around one point, usually a planet or some military outpost. As such, the frame of reference was never ambiguous and the view screens were sufficient for modeling any three dimensional situation."

"Well, they're not good enough."

The holovid projectors flickered on. In the space directly in front of the captain's chair appeared the star systems of the Alpha and Beta Quadrants.

"Your solution is ingenious."

"Make it zoom in. I want to see our position, the Neutral Zone, and the last known position of that ship. Put Romulus and Remus up there too."

He asks for much, the captain. Shortly before we lost the Romulan ship's signal, the captain demanded that I modify the programming of a popular 3-D hologame to instead show all outside motion through holographic projection, in real time. I edited and added thousands of lines of code and to create an extremely crude program that was in no way comprehensible to the average user. Even automatically feeding the data from the sensors directly into the program, I had to write in certain protocols that would allow the program to interpret that information. Everything else had to be inputted manually, including this zoom command.

"Sulu, are we still on course?"

"Still following their last known path, captain—111 mark 14."

"And we would have picked up on something if we got into really close range with them?"

"Affirmative, captain. As we have not detected anything thus far, we may conclude that the Romulan vessel is still ahead of us, or that it has changed course."

"Do you think it knows we're here, captain?"

"Probably. But if that thing's as low energy and small as we think it is, then the sensors're going to be pretty crappy. Really good sensors also means higher energy consumption. They can probably see us, but not much more than that. Unless they have some fancy technology up their sleeve."

"Unlikely, captain. If you recall, the _Narada_'s weapons were quite advanced, but their sensor systems were unremarkable."

"That was a mining ship. This is probably a military bird, and it's gonna be loaded down with as many advantages as they can give it."

"Scott to bridge."

"Are they ready?"

"I've got 31 trackers ready and loaded, sir."

"31? What happened to 37? Whatever, wait for my command to fire them. Stand by. Uhura, you got anything for me?"

--

"My commander sent for Menkore."

"A message was dispatched. You've broken the rule of silence."

"Only in code, to inform the Praetor of the success of our glorious mission."

"Your carelessness might have ended this glorious mission!" he roared. "And it still might yet. There is an Earth vessel following, Uhlan. You are reduced two steps in rank, and I'll have you court martialed if you fail to follow orders again. Return to post."

Menkore saluted the commander and sulked back to his post. The commander watched Menkore with shrewd eyes. A companion walked up beside him.

"Take care commander. He has friends, friends in the Senate and friends close to the Praetor. The Praetor is already suspicious of your ambitions, jealous of the victories you've wrested at so young an age. There is danger in threatening his supporters."

"The Praetor can play with his foolish political intrigues. What does he know of danger? Danger and I are well acquainted. After our victories in this next campaign and the coming war, we will be old companions. I have nothing to fear."

"We've known each other since our first shave, but still I do not understand you."

"I think you do," the commander smiled broadly. "Of course we both know what will happen when we reach home with proof of the Earth men's weakness. And we will have irrefutable proof. This earth commander will follow, he must. When he attacks, when he makes that fatal mistake, we will destroy him. Our gift to the homeland—a war. To finish the job that Nero began."

"Must it always be so? We have already lost so many comrades in this way."

"It is the warrior's way, it is our destiny to greatness. We are strong, and we will win the war, build our empire. We will take back what we lost at Cheron."

"And you commander. What do you desire? The laur'uiel leaves?"

"Only a fleet, with myself to command and you as my second, centurion. We will sweep through this galaxy and place our names alongside the great generals of old."

The ship trembled slightly.

"Commander! We've been hit by four projectiles from the Earth vessel."

"That fool Menkore gave away our position. Though I wondered why the Earth commander did not fire immediately. What are these projectiles?"

"They are puzzling, commander. Metal capsules. Our sensors are detecting transmissions emanating from them."

The commander's face changed as he came to a realization. He began chuckling ruefully.

"Clever. Very clever."

"Commander—?"

"It is just what I would have done." He turned to the centurion. "He's attached a tracking device to our ship. He is cautious, this Earth commander."

"If he knows our position, why does he not attack?"

"First study the enemy, centurion. Find their weakness. Then attack. But we approach the Neutral Zone, and there is the true test. For I desire war, I do not fear it. I will pose to him a question."

"You cannot think to break the silence, commander!"

"Perhaps you do not know me after all, centurion. No, I intend to find out whether he is as brave as he is clever. I will ask him—can he face instigating interstellar war?"

--

"Captain, they're speeding up," Lt. Sulu looked over his shoulder.

The captain stood before the holographic display, carefully studying the Romulan movements. Dr. McCoy had joined us on the bridge, along with Mr. Scott. The doctor scowled at the blinking red light representing the enemy vessel.

The captain exhaled. "They're making a run for the Neutral Zone. Fuck."

"Captain, the treaty drawn after the Earth-Romulan War clearly states that—"

"I know, Spock. I'm not sure it really counts anymore, not after what Nero did."

"Discussing technicalities of treaties, Jim? Whether it stands or no, do you realize what this comes down to?—millions and millions of lives hanging on what this vessel does next."

"Or what it fails to do, doctor."

"Both of you, cut it. What I want to know is whether we can go up against that thing with a reasonable chance of victory."

"In engines, it's no competition. No doubt about it, captain," Mr. Scott shook his head. "They're runin' on pure impulse, maybe some emergency warp tucked away. But a ship with the readouts I'm seein'? They'd have to choose between fighting or flying."

"There is a weakness to their weapon, captain. The plasma completely dissipates after 1.4 AU, and the maximum radius is 9200 km. Furthermore, we know that the weapon takes at approximately 62 seconds to charge, and it consumes a huge quantity of energy in the process."

"So the weapon has a limit to its range. Not surprising, if it's plasma based. The real question is, can we outrun it?"

"There is existing a small complication, sir."

"What is it, Chekov?"

"The trackers sir. We are not knowing where on the ship they are sticking. If they are sticking in the wrong places, we will lose their signal again. If we are wery lucky, communicators will be undamaged. But I am thinking that is wery unlikely, sir."

"Uhura?"

"I think I have a solution for that. I can send out wide pulses of radio and ultraviolet waves. When they hit the vessel, they'll be reflected back at all sorts of angles, some of which will be towards the ship. I've adjusted the communications receivers to read for those wavelengths, so I can 'listen' for the returning waves. Locking onto those reflections, the computer can plot the course of the ship, with 1.8 seconds lag. It won't be as accurate as the communicators, but it's better than nothing."

"Can the telescopes help out, Spock?"

"Possibly, captain. They might provide positions every 25 seconds, but would not be able to give you continuous readout as Lt. Uhura will be able to do."

"Put them on it, then."

"Jim, this cat and mouse game you've got going is swell, fine, but _what is your objective_? What're you going to do in that Neutral Zone and they open fire?"

The captain stared at the starry projection, his eyes reflecting its glow in the darkness.

"Sir, there's a comet up ahead."

--

"How pleasing to the eye it is. Behold a marvel in the darkness," the commander smiled.

"You spoke of entrapment."

"Its many particles will obscure their sensors, centurion. We use that moment to change course and fire, when they are blind."

"We enter the comet's tail, commander.

"Once fully obscured, we turn suddenly back upon our adversary. Prepare the weapon. Two thirds power with wide-sweep radius should be sufficient to obliterate them."

"The screen is clear, commander."

"Clear?"

"The supply ship no longer follows us."

"Escape manuever one, quickly!"

--

"Sir, there's nothing!"

"He guessed our move. Hold the phasers. Spock, where the fuck is he?"

The ship's light had momentarily disappeared in the projection with only a slight, inconclusive trail of comet debris appearing.

Clark \\: Frame change, spherical, E = (0, 0, 0). IR spiking rapidly at (0.66, 1.49, -1.33)

The red light reappeared, angled below the _Enterprise_.

"Sulu get out, now! Hard to stern, get out of the radius of that thing."

A red beam appeared and bloomed out, reaching and reaching toward the ship.

"More power, more power, faster—Spock, this thing's radius is equal to its range—"

"It appears that the Romulans are able to control the range and radius, as well as power level—"

"No shit. It's not fucking dissolved yet, brace yourself—!"

--

"Commander, the ship is damaged. They have lost 30% power."

"30%. A good number to choose. At the range they were hit, the damage could be real or exaggerated. Does he continue to follow us?"

"Yes—wait. No. He goes on another path."

The commander frowned. "We little choice but to proceed to the Neutral Zone. Our fuel runs low. But I do not trust this Earth commander."

A shuddering heave. Several parts fall loose. A guttural yell.

"Commander! We have taken a severe hit on our starboard side."

"Evasive actions, now! Sublieutenant, find whatever materials you can and make some way to interfere with their sensors! Pilot—into the Neutral Zone."

The centurion lies crushed beneath a metal beam, his skull crushed in from the impact and his arm twisted at an unnatural angle. Dark green pools on the floor.

--

Krivorotov \\: Phaser 1, round 3, hit object directly. Phaser 4, round 6 grazed object. Phaser 4, round 7 grazed object. Phaser 7, round 2 hit object directly.

Clark \\: Slight increase in IR. H 137 M 40

"Uhura?"

Her fingers flew over the console as she constantly adjusted the pulses and the computer lock onto the signal reflections.

"Still have them, sir. One of the communicators survived and is broadcasting faintly. They've reached the Neutral Zone."

"Who's your deputy right now?"

"I am, sir," a junior communications officer reported. He maintained his concentration on his own panel, assisting Nyota.

"Lt. al-Hasan, send a message to Starfleet. Inform command base—in my opinion no option. On my responsibility we're heading into the Neutral Zone, engaging Romulan stealth ship. Lt. Sulu, get in a little closer and continue firing along their path."

"Aye, sir."

"Are we getting any hits in, Spock?"

"Affirmative. Why have we moved within range of their weapon, captain?"

"Their captain really wants to get back home. They haven't warped out, so that means they're running low on whatever fuel keeps them going. If shit's going to go down, I don't want it to cross into Romulan space."

--

The commander's face was set in an expression of deep grief. An officer approached him.

"Commander they stay within range," he said, voice eager and urgent. "I will tend to the centurion."

The commander stood briskly. He gave one last look at the centurion and turned to the officer.

"No need. The centurion is dead."

"Commander, why don't we fire?!"

The commander's eyes were sharp and assessing. "No. No, he's shrewd, this starship commander. He tries to make us waste energy. He's estimated we have only enough—"

"Sir, the devices are ready."

He nodded. "It is time. And all debris has been put into disposal tubes?"

"Yes, as you commanded."

The ship rocked again.

"A shot grazed us, commander. It barely missed the weapon's holding chamber."

"Good. Reduce speed, but go forward to our homeland. I want that Earth commander to think our ship is breaking up."

The Romulans saluted and turned to carry out their orders. The commander stopped one quickly. He nodded towards the corpse.

"The body of the centurion too."

The officer's expression tightened, then he saluted once more and took the body away.

The commander whispered under his breath. His eyes glint briefly. "Forgive me my friend, but I must use everything I have now to get home."

--

"I've got debris scattering ahead, captain. We've hit them point blank!"

"Maybe, Sulu. Spock?"

"Vessel wreckage. Metal molds, conduit, plaster form and—a body, captain."

The captain frowned.

"However."

"However?"

"Insufficient mass, sir."

"What?"

"Simple debris of a vessel. A trick."

"Too simple. There's gotta be something else—"

The holographic projection flickered and then shut down completely.

"What the fuck?"

"I am searching for the error, captain."

"Uhura, can you get me in 2-D?"

"Negative, captain. That debris must've contained some jamming devices because I'm getting too much interference to locate the vessel."

"It caused a malfunction in my program, as the data became distorted. The error will be fixed momentarily, captain."

"Sulu, take us back out of range _now_. 59 mark 90! _Go_! Scotty, get me some more power!"

Clark \\: IR spike heading towards us. Velocity unknown, too much interference.

Palepu \\: e- d growth exponential (0.65, 1.57, 0.88)

Ahuja \\: exponential E spike.

Krivorotov \\: X-ray, Plasma e- d = 4 × 10^23 e-/cm^3

"Captain, the weapon is charged at maximum power—"

"Sulu, when that thing catches up to us, go Warp Four for two minutes, heading 111 mark 14."

"_Two minutes_?"

"Can you do it?"

Lt. Sulu's face became resolute. "Yes sir—"

"Jim, what the hell are you thinking?! I'm not a goddamn warp engine specialist, but accelerate to light speed and then punch the brakes two minutes later? We'll have whiplash so bad—"

"Spock, give me ETA for that thing—"

"Twenty two seconds and counting—"

"Sulu, on my command. Spock countdown."

"Nineteen."

"Sir, yeh can't do this! There's no guarantee that—"

"Eighteen."

"—goin' ta Warp'll let us phase through that plasma undamaged!"

"Seventeen."

"I already know that. But you got any better ideas, Scotty?"

"Sixteen."

"We can outrun it, sir. This ship'll do it for us."

"Fifteen."

"Chekov?"

"4.7% chance of escaping at this rate, keptan."

"We'll lose them completely if we get out of sensor range."

"Fourteen."

"I'm not letting them go."

The view screen glowed red from the forward sensors.

"Thirteen."

"Chance of survival, Spock?"

"Unknown. This has never—twelve—been attempted before."

"It's like warping into the center of a star, captain!"

"Eleven."

"If this works, we might not have interstellar war. If this doesn't, all hell—"

"Ten."

"—will break loose. And I will _not_ have another fucking dead planet—Romulan, Earth—"

"Nine."

"Andorian, whatever the fuck, on my hands."

"Jim—"

"Punch it, Sulu."

"Eight."


	48. Ch 48

We are stalemated.

Nine hours and forty seven minutes have passed since the captain took his major gamble. The _Enterprise_ emerged with damage including a four disabled phasers, numerous circuit overloads, two fused motherboards, a shattered dilithium crystal, and some loss of hull integrity. There have been a few injured, mostly burns resulting from the plasma weapon.

After we emerged from warp on the other side of the Romulan vessel, the captain laid down a line of fire. Our telescopes and other sensors were able to track the vessel through the weapon's energy signature. After the weapon 'cooled down,' we lost the ship's signal. The captain speculates that the Romulan captain has turned off his engine and is waiting for us to move off. He estimates that they cannot use the weapon again, as they have scarcely enough fuel for the journey back to Romulus.

"These guys really really want to get back home. These are probably some really valuable intel missions. He's gonna play the waiting game."

The captain has implemented a similar strategy. He has disguised our energy signature by completely shutting off the gravity generators, lowering the remaining sector's temperatures, and turning off the warp engines, with the exception of emergency warp. Most of our energy is currently devoted to running subtle sensor scans.

Nyota has been manning her station for 20 hours now. She refuses to go off shift. For the duration of our stalemate, she and the deputies have been sending noise-like signals to try and determine the location of the ship. They have only been able to verify that there exists an unidentified mass in that sector. The captain insists that she remain on the bridge.

"She's the best we've got. The best all of Starfleet has, for that matter."

Engineer Scott is attending to the engine room and making repairs on the phasers. Lt. Sulu and Lt. Chekov have been at the helm and navigation, respectively, for 20 hours. Dr. McCoy has been attending to a few patients in Sickbay. For the most part, he has remained on the bridge, standing close behind the captain. I have repaired the hologame program, refined the coding, and inputted the additional data the scientists have forwarded. Some of the data was able to fill in substantial gaps in the timeline.

The captain has been play and replaying the course of events up to the stalemate.

"Stop. Rewind," he commands me. "Orient it with the Romulans at the origin, and our movements around it."

He studies the playback and nods to himself, then frowns.

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" he asks me.

I look at him.

"I would have done pretty much the same thing if I were him. Look at the risks he took at 0034 and then 0049. Aggressive, really big gambles that might've paid off and left us a bunch of space dust."

"You are trying to anticipate his next move."

"Maybe. Or maybe," the captain looks sideways. The soft luminescence of the holovid stars paints his face in chiaroscuro. "I'll make the first move."

The captain turned back to study the projections. Dr. McCoy came and stood beside him.

"What's up, Jim?" the doctor asks in undertone. "You've got that look on your face."

"Nothing, Bones."

"Bullshit," the doctor said simply. He put his hand on the captain's shoulder. "Something's botherin' ya."

Jim looked up from his study and surveyed the bridge. His eyes lingered as they passed over each individual.

"This bridge. This ship," he motioned to the space. "These guys're waiting for me to do something, make the next move. Get us through this mess. Bones—" he said, voice dropping lower. "what if I'm wrong?"

The doctor stared at the captain and was for a short time speechless. Then he gathered up his resolve.

"Captain—"

"I didn't really expect an answer, Bones."

"Well, I've got one. Somethin' I seldom say to a customer. Now I'm a doctor, not a scientist or an astronomer or a theoretician or a philosopher. But," he nodded towards the projection field. "In this galaxy, there's a mathematical probability of three million Earth-type planets."

Jim's eyes blazed as he turned his attention to the pinpricks of light.

"And in all the universe, three million million galaxies like this. And in all of that, and perhaps more, only one of each of us." He looked directly at Jim. "Don't destroy the one named Kirk."

--

"Lethal silence, commander. Still no sign. I say the supply ship has gone off, or we have annihilated it."

"That is no supply vessel. It is their flagship, a Constitution class starship."

"Then our victory is all the more glorious."

"Silence. Do not crow before the sun rises. This Earth commander is not like the others. He is biding his time. He is still there, somewhere. I feel it."


	49. Ch 49

"A signal, commander!"

"We have him. Move towards him."

"He is moving towards Romulus, sir!"

"We are hit, commander! More damage on the starboard side!"

"How commander, how?!"

"He's a sorcerer, that one," the commander said, his voice tinged with real respect. "Unpredictable, wily like Odyth'thes."

"He stays within range, commander. We are almost out of the Neutral Zone—a signal to our generals will reach them in time to conduct a rescue."

"Speed, Uhlan?"

"We may overtake him, commander. They have lost warp drive capability."

"Wait until they are fully in range. I want death to be complete."

"Commander, grant me the honor of the kill!"

"Granted, sublieutenant. Fire whenever ready."

"Commander, a strange reading on our screens. We approach a field of debris."

"Composition?"

"Mostly heavy metals. There is one central object, a metal cased—"

"Do not fire!"

For a moment, everything blacks out. Then the ship heaves violently, the sound of crashing metal and explosions. The sensors flicker and circuits burst into flame and everywhere around there is chaos and wailing.

"We are beaten! It cannot be true! The Praetor's proudest stealth ship, beaten!"

"Silence, soldier! Are you such a coward that you surrender at the first sign of adversity? We can yet save the honor of Romulus, and even your Praetor's pride. Where is the starship now?"

"Directly in line between us and Romulus, sir."

"Sublieutenant, did you fully discharge the weapon?"

"No, commander. There is still plasma left."

"Then hold our position. Do not touch anything. Sublieutenant, put the weapon's setting on maximum, load in any remaining charge you might use. Remain vigilant, and on my command, we will deliver our final attack."

"But commander—! That means—"

"Do not question my orders, Uhlan! Now, attend to your duties!"

The remaining Romulans threw their shoulders back and stood at strict discipline.

"It is your will! For the glory of Romulus and Remus!" they saluted.

--

"Sulu, move in on the Romulans. Uhura, put their bridge on the viewscreen."

"Aye sir. Hailing frequencies open, captain."

"Spock," he commanded.

I left my post and took my place beside him.

The Romulan commander's face appeared on the viewscreen. The commander was remarkably young, like our own captain. His face lacked the elaborate hieroglyphs of the miner Nero. The interior of the ship was utterly dismantled, torn apart by the captain's 'dirty bomb.' Several on the bridge of the _Enterprise _recoiled at the sight of the Romulan. His uniform was disheveled and the lights flickered behind him. Unlike Nero, whose madness and crazed grief were brutally cut into face and evident in his eyes, this commander stood at attention. His face was bore marks of pride, of nobility and authority. There was real respect, and some regret, as he looked at the face of the captain.

"Captain, we're standing by to beam your survivors aboard our ship. Prepare to abandon your vessel."

"No. No that is not our way." Admiration shone through his eyes. "I regret that we meet this way. You and I are of a kind—in a different reality I could have called you friend."

The captain stepped forward, his own expression mirroring that of the Romulan commander.

"What purpose would it serve to die?"

The commander laughed briefly. "What would you do in my stead, commander? You know as well as I, we are creatures of duty. I have lived my life by it. And now there is just one more duty to perform."

The commander looked back.

"Sulu! Out, get us out."

"Sublieutenant—"

"We can't, captain, or we'll be in Romulan space!"

"Fire!"

"Then jump 239 mark 11, fuck it! Go go _go_!"

--

Lieutenant Commander Levine Malphurs, deceased  
Dr. Masi Tsunemori, deceased.  
Dr. Terrence Clark, deceased.  
Lieutenant Esteban Rodriguez, deceased.  
Lieutenant Robert Tomlinson, deceased.  
Lieutenant Quay Cuong, deceased.  
Lieutenant Donald Knight, deceased.  
Ensign Tu-Kuo Mamiya, deceased.  
Ensign Pierre Lecompte, deceased.  
Ensign Lydia Volpe, deceased.  
Ensign Siu-Keng Ahern, deceased.  
Ensign Aeishia Mellington, deceased.  
Ensign Julian Marchesano, deceased.  
Ensign Svetlana Nepomnaschy, deceased.  
Ensign Abdul Kitali, deceased.  
Ensign Yvette Quinata, deceased.  
Ensign Angela Martine, deceased.  
Yeoman Zarathustra Baylor, deceased  
Yeoman Li Shih-Ning, deceased  
Yeoman Deborine Larson, deceased.  
Yeoman Kanwalli Kanwal, deceased.  
Nurse Debaprasad Majumcuso-Nelson, deceased.

--

We were able to salvage from the wreckage the recordings of the activities on the Romulan bridge. Nyota and I corrected and verified the translation at 2217. I delivered it to the captain, who is currently playing the files on his computer console.

The doctor is attending to the dead. Throughout this experience he has been unusually quiet and observant. I inquired after his health.

"Nah, I'm fine. I said everything I needed to say. The rest of it was on Jim's shoulders, and he had enough to worry about. He needed to concentrate. I had to keep my mouth shut and stay out of the way," the doctor looked straight into my eyes. "It's you he leans on for that. You're his second, the only one who he'll even think about sharing that ridiculous burden he totes around. You best worry about Jim, not me.

"And if you can manage it, drag his ass away from watching that Romulan vid and bring him here. I need to do his psych evals again."

When I entered his quarters, the captain was asleep at his console, face relaxed, mouth wide open. Saliva pooled on the desk.

I terminated the playback, dimmed the lights, adjusted the room temperature, and then locked the captain's quarters. Dr. McCoy would agree that Jim needs sleep more than he needs to be evaluated.


	50. Ch 50

Aside from the typical consequences following the 'Balance of Terror,' as the crew have begun to refer to it, such as precipitating a major diplomatic crisis, sending military strategists and weapons engineers into a state of panic to replicate and study the plasma, clogging the subspace communications channels with fourteen transmissions from various admirals and member of the Federation Council for lengthy encrypted sessions in which these vaunted political figures wring my and the captain's brain for information, the endless chatter of political analysts fighting on the Federation nets, there has been one rather unexpected result. All of the crew is, as Nyota puts it, "aflutter" about this recent development. She reports that here has been endless gossip and speculation.

_The Xhrieking SiXters Rock the Alpha Quadrant; Sultry, Sexy, and Blue—Andorian Models can score; +Sport Report –The Intergalactic Freeze unveils their new line of Men's gear –Rigellian Sports teams on our WatchList; Win a trip to an Orion pleasure resort. All credits paid for by InterGQ; The latest Terran fashions inside._

_InterGQ gets an EXCLUSIVE interview with Captain James T. Kirk!_

The captain will not confirm or deny whether he actually gave the interview. I have no comment on the matter. The article is as follows:

_His Name is James Tiberius Kirk._

Age 26. He already has command of a Federation Constitution class starship, the U.S.S. _Enterprise_, the youngest captain in all of Federation history. He's saved us from going ka-BOOM when Nero came down with his drill and Ship of Doom. How much more can a guy want? Well, pwning a Romulan stealth ship, for one thing.

J.T. Kirk—golden boy of Starfleet and Romulan hunter extraordinaire. Ever since Nero came and blew his dad out of the sky, he's been on the warpath to get them. Born in a lightning storm in space, he spent years stuck out in the cornfields of Iowa, getting into more scrapes than an Orion slave girl can orgasm. At Starfleet, when he wasn't hacking into computer simulations and pissing all the profs off with his smart aleck genius, he built up quite a rep as the resident Don Juan. Who says you can't have fun with those lab geeks in their sleek science blues? Kirk's tasted every color of the rainbow, and then some.

Our Casanova Captain faced down Nero and, if you bother reading the reports (we didn't) faced down a black hole. Is there nothing this guy can't do? Starfleet gave him a pat on the back, a slap on the ass and pinned a bow on his uniform, sending him off on a DS5Mi. That's Deep Space Five Year Military/Scientific Mission, for those of you who didn't know.

Kirk isn't one to go out in space and be quiet. We've been keeping up with some of the mission releases of the _Enterprise_ and you wouldn't believe the kind of crazy shit that goes down in space. (Kind of reminds me of one of my more intense acid trips. Sign me up!) But it's not all fun and games out there with the stars. A week ago, the nets exploded with the news that Romulans are sniffing the Neutral Zone again. Any other guy would have been blown into the Andromeda Galaxy by their plasma weapon of Doom, but Kirk? He's saved our asses again.

I got, through lots of wrangling connections and hours of talking to the stuffed shirts up at HQ, an exclusive interview with the one and only James T. Kirk. As much as we know about his reputation, does anybody really know him? He's a legend, the mysterious captain, the reckless playboy. But underneath his white hot glow of his fame and awesomeness, there's a man. And he's his own force of nature.

_Okay, so Nero coming and trying to blow us up. You know what I'm talking about?_

(laughs and nods) What about it?

_Any comments?_

Not really. I mean, I guess losing your pregnant wife and your planet can mess a guy up, but that's what therapy's for. He shoulda come and seen me—I could have recommended him to a couple of good shrinks. (laughs again)

_We all saw the vids of you, offering to beam Nero onto your ship. Why? What was going through your head?_

(shrugs) My stab at diplomacy. I think I've gotten better, but really it's Spock who does most of the work on basically everything. I just lounge around in the command chair. Can't complain—it's a good life.

_Speaking of your First, how're you two getting along? We heard rumors of him bringing you up on academic charges, and that he tried to strangle you. Any kinky sexual tension going on there?_

(looks incredulous) Where the hell did you hear that from?

_Oh, so there must be something._

No seriously, where'd you hear that? Spock's nothing but professional, and he's the best First Officer anyone could ask for. He could probably be captain if he wanted to. We've had our differences, but I wouldn't be _alive_ and talking to you if he didn't drag me out of some of the shit nasty stuff the universe's thrown at us.

_So none of that subspace gossip is true?_

People can think whatever they like about me. But don't fuck around with my crew. Especially my First Officer.

_That's disappointing. What about you and your CMO, Leonard McCoy? Space is rife with some very interesting rumors about some of the hot stuff you boys have been up to_.

What?! Bones is like my brother! That's just—look, I have a lot of stuff to get back to, so if we're done with Twenty Questions about who I'm not shacking up with—

_Fine, sorry. My lips are sealed. So, moving on to serious stuff, about that Romulan ship that dropped in to say hi. (Kirk snorts) I've read up on some of the missions you've been on, and there's a lot of diplomacy and science going on, but not much military._

I'm totally fine with it being that way. I want to explore space, not conquer it. It's a good day when I haven't hit the Red Alert button.

_All the analysts are blown away by how you handled the situation, but you don't have any type of military experience_.

I dunno. I think the whole facing down a giant Romulan mining ship counts as military.

_But this was a Romulan spy ship. You didn't take any classes in advanced military strategy—I looked into your Academy class list. Starfleet doesn't even offer a course on this stuff in Officer School_.

I improvised. I'm pretty good at it.

_C'mon. Give us mortals here a glimpse into what you were thinking_.

Look, after that one-on-one meet and greet with the _Narada_, I thought it'd be a good idea to be prepared if something like that ever happened again. The Federation has some really sweet databases, and with a captain's level of access, I can read whatever the hell I want.

_Reading? You found a cheat sheet? But everyone's been going on and on about how this situation was totally unprecedented._

Probably not unprecedented, but yeah, there isn't a lot of documentation out there. Even if you do read up on the few that happened, the weapons and sensors are really primitive compared to today, and everything's close range. Most of these guys were taking lucky shots in the dark and winning was just a matter of who could cover the largest area.

I guess that's really the crux of the problem.

_Luck?_

No. Area. Did you know they still train us to think on a plane, what with the flat view screens and all? It's really idiotic. We're in fucking space, and we've known for a long time it's not 2-D. I mean, yeah, I get that we're a terrestrial species and all, living our entire existence like little dots in the x-y plane, but we've had spaceflight for how many years now?

_What about all those space wars? If I remember my grade ten galactic history right, there were a bunch of those, and they were definitely fought in three dimensions. And we won them._

Okay, let me rephrase—the problem isn't just about dimensions. Spock told me that interstellar warfare has mostly been about a fleet versus a planet, or two planets up against each other, or two fleets in close range, or two fleets with planets mixed in. They all have one thing in common—a natural frame of reference.

_Frame of reference?_

A way to orient North, South, East, West, Down, Up. Most of the time, it's pretty easy to pick what direction you want to be up, or whatever. You're on a planet and the enemy's in space? Then everything is coming down towards you and you're always attacking up. In that Neutral Zone, even at the asteroid outposts, there wasn't any automatic orientation. As soon as I got that, as soon as I figured that out, I could define my target, path, axes however the fuck I wanted, whichever is most useful to me strategically.

Actually, the closest thing to the shit that went down in the Neutral Zone would be old Earth submarine warfare, except there's no top of the water and no bottom of the ocean. I read a lot about that, and I read some about the old air battles they had in the Earth World Wars. It's interesting stuff. There's some sci-fi books that were interesting too, though they didn't give much in terms of actual strategy. Good ideas, though.

_Woah, did not expect to get a giant lesson about dimensions. I failed my maths classes so many times_.

(shrugs) You're missing out.

_But after all this reading and studying, you make things up on the spot?_

Books can only take you so far. Actually, Spock's the big reader on ship—the guy goes through entire _encyclopedias_ in the time it takes me to read a report or something. Kind of makes me wish I had an eidetic memory.

_Tell me a little about this dirty bomb everyone's talking about. Was it another one of your improvisations?_

Actually, I kind of stole the idea from the Romulan commander. There was one time he dumped all kinds of shit out in space to make it seem like the ship was dead. Inside, though, he packed a bunch of interference devices that screwed our sensors and left us scrambling for a few minutes.

I decided to take the same idea, but it was trickier to pull off. Wasn't really that sure he'd fall for it, but he did.

_The FedGazette's main net articles are calling your resourcefulness "a stroke of pure genius."_

I wouldn't call it genius, but (shrugs). You use what you have. We happened to have one of the old nuclear warheads lying around, for some reason. The ship had taken a lot of damage, and we had to keep low energy because we were stalemated. That's when I thought of the dirty bomb. Me and Scotty and a few other engineers and weapons officers basically got all of our damaged stuff together, found as much heavy debris as we could, and released it into space. We stuck the warhead in the mix of it. Then we broke silence and headed as fast as we could to Romulus.

_That's what most people don't understand. They think it was brilliant, but it goes against all common sense. You almost left the Neutral Zone. I think some Romulans're trying to say you actually stepped into their space._

We didn't. But why I went to Romulus? I figured that the commander really wanted to get back and would take any chance he could to make sure we were never made it out alive to our side. As an added bonus, I was going along his course. (shrugs) Who knows what he was thinking.

_And when he fired, he set off the A-bomb._

Yeah. I didn't know he still had some juice left for afterwards, but whatever. The bomb itself probably woulda done a lot of damage if we got it point blank, but it was the debris that really ripped through his ship. S'why it's a dirty bomb—those things blow fucking holes into your ship. Really, the explosion just provided the force to push all that shit out every direction. There was no way he couldn't have got hit by at least one of those flying bits.

_They want to commemorate you with a fancy medal of honor or even promote you, I hear. What happens when you're 26 and you've already been promoted twice? What's left? You've kind of done it all._

They're not gonna promote me. I don't really care about medals.

And you'd be pretty surprised by some of the weird shit the universe throws at ya. I'm pretty sure I could do this all my life and never get bored.

_Between the two of them, which victory felt better? Nero, or this one?_

Uh... they aren't really comparable. I lost 22 crewmembers I was responsible for, that I got to know in this one. But you can't really top losing a whole planet, its culture, people, biodiversity, knowledge, that kind of stuff.

_Do you think about how you want to go out?_

Not really. I pretty much take all this one shift at a time.

_Okay, just a few questions about you to wrap it up. How's it feel to be the youngest Fleet captain? Feel a lot of pressure?_

I guess it was kind of daunting at first, but I've gotten used to it. I don't care about what other people think or say about me. It doesn't have any bearing on what I do or how I do it.

_Do anything in particular when you're not on duty?_

(laughs) I'm never not on duty. There's times when things are relaxed and shit isn't hitting the fan. I dunno. I work out. Play chess. Eat. Sleep. Read sometimes.

_No sex?_

Why does the whole Alpha Quadrant have some sort of fixation on my sex life?

_You've got a reputation. And why shouldn't people be interested? You're quite fit._

Yeah, well, it's not a good idea for a captain to go fraternize—that's what Starfleet calls it—with the crew. And for once, I kind of agree with them. It's just a bad idea.

_That's gotta be tough._

I deal. (smirks) Like I said, I don't really have any complaints. This job is fucking awesome, and I can't imagine myself anywhere else.

_One last question._

Go for it.

_Has anyone ever called you J.T.?_

Uh, no? Why?

_It's got a nice ring to it—J.T. Kirk._

I think I'll pass.

_Why not?_

'Cause it's not my name. (duh) I mean, what kind of a question is that?


	51. Ch 51

"Professor."

A Terran student.

Rank: Cadet  
Name: Uhura, Nyota  
Age: estimate 23 Terran years  
Concentration: Undecided/Pilot Program  
Origin: African continent, Eastern coast.  
Native Language: estimate Swahili, with Somali and Arabic secondary. Speaks impeccable Federation Standard.  
Class: Introduction to Xenolanguages, section 012  
Proficiency: Top 3%.  
Current mark: 96.44/100  
Projected final mark: 98.70/100  
Other notes: Rapid uptake on extremely structured languages. Fared poorly on Orinic dialects. Consistently writes respectable and interesting papers on evolutionary linguistics.  
Recommendations: Tentative—Starfleet Communications Officer or Academy of Xenolanguages & Linguistics for doctoral degree.

"Cadet Uhura."

Her eyes widened.

"You know my name?"

"I know the names of all 725 students in my classes, Cadet Uhura."

"Um.."

"Do you have a query, cadet?"

She straightened. "Yes, sir. I wondered how many of these passages we should translate per day. You said that we could do it at our own pace, but if I don't set a timetable, I'll never get them done," she said, holding up a series of datapads.

"Two per day should suffice."

"_Two_ per day?!"

"Once you arrive Passage 29, I would suggest increasing that number to three."

Cadet Uhura stared at me.

"I believe I have answered your query completely. If you have no further questions, cadet—"

"Wait! It's just that I tried translating the first passage, spent five hours on it, and ended up with a bunch of nonsense. I pored over all the dictionaries the databases had to offer, and still it's just a few lines of jibberish."

"Do you have your translation with you?"

She thrust out her datapad. The page was covered in highly organized red scribble. Under each word was a possible translation, which in turn was tagged with a bibliographic entry of the dictionary she used. On another page were various permutations of meanings. She had apparently thought to look at translations of similar works and tried to deduce from there the best translation. All her work was quite impressive.

Despite this, she was correct in her assessment. Most of the lines were 'jibberish.'

"If you would narrow the parameters of your inquiry, I may assist you better. I will not provide the translations for you, as it would defeat the purpose of this exercise."

Cadet Uhura frowned at the datapad. She seemed to debate between asking specific questions about the passage, or presenting a general question about the assignment.

"I feel like I should be faster at this. I'm _good_ at Vulcan—among my peers anyway. Obviously, we can't speak it, but I can recognize and read it fairly well. But this, this is Ancient Vulcan. There're some similarities, but many differences too. I spent so much time on one passage, got absolutely nowhere, and I'm supposed to do two of these a night? Professor, as much as I love your class, I still have to go to track practice and think of my other classes."

"Students rarely complete this assignment. I do not expect you to finish all the passages. Indeed, you have done more than 64% of the cadets in the history of this course already. I answered your question considering the entirety of the assignment, not the historic mean."

"What?!" she gaped.

"You do not find my answer satisfactory."

"No, not really. I want to finish this assignment. The translations we had to do for Vulcan were fascinating, and I think it would be interesting to contrast it with this new assignment you gave us. Actually, I'd like to write about it for my final paper. It's just that," she paused, considering her words. "Do you know pre-Warp English, professor?"

I nodded. A highly convoluted and perplexing language.

"Imagine that you've just learned pre-Warp E. This assignment you've given us is like trying to translate all ten books of _Paradise Lost_ with all the spaces deleted. It would be hard enough translating _Paradise Lost_ as it is, but now you don't even know where one word begins and another ends."

"The assignment has never been described in such terms before."

"Do you see why I'm frustrated?"

"I understand the source of your difficulties. The fault is mine. I had not taken certain factors into account."

"But I still want to translate the Vulcan version of _Paradise Lost_."

I considered the situation. It would be unwise to discourage such a talented and motivated student.

"May I propose a solution?"

She nodded.

"I will assist you in the translations of the first ten passages. This should enhance your comprehension and provide you with a method by which you may accurately translate. After those ten passages, you may ask me specific questions or ask confirmation of a translation, but I will cease to actively direct your efforts."

"Only ten passages? I don't know if that's enough."

"I took your learning curve into account in my calculations. If you were an average student, Cadet Uhura, I would have offered assistance with seventeen passages."

Cadet Uhura narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Is there a point where you wouldn't help a student at all?"

"There are students for whom any assistance would be useless. They would fare better to quit my class entirely and enroll in another."

She laughed, a rich and lyrical sound.

An intriguing experience. I have never made a Terran laugh before. Several have come to my office on the verge of tears because of some mark they received.

I have never understood why Terrans became emotionally disturbed by their own mistakes. One learns from mistakes and does not repeat them. Expelling liquid from every orifice on one's face does nothing to alter the mistake, the mark, the intelligence of the student, or my own inclination to change the mark. A student in the past referred to it as 'showing mercy.' That statement is illogical, as I do not consider providing an inaccurate appraisal of a student's academic performance a mercy. If anything, it encourages them to remain mediocre students. Most students, however, seem to prescribe to the Terran proverb that "ignorance is bliss."

"If I may make another suggestion, Cadet Uhura?"

"Yes, professor?"

"The structure of Ancient Vulcan shares 66 linguistic and grammatical similarities with the ancient Terran written language of Sanskrit. You may find the texts dealing with Sanskrit translation to be useful, especially those written by Dr. Gopalakrishnan. She studied several Terran languages extensively, as well as a few computer languages. Her unique background allows her to give an interesting perspective that may be helpful to you."

Cadet Uhura smiled widely, genuine gratitude behind her eyes.

"Thank you so much, professor. I'll see you—?"

"I will be in my office at 1430."

--

"I had to work up a lot of courage to talk to you, that first time."

"You did not appear to be nervous or in any way discomfited."

"I practiced in front of the mirror."

I raised my eyebrow.

"Well, not quite. But I did rehearse what I was going to say in my head. Of course, you threw that all off completely when you addressed me by name."

"I recall your surprise."

"More like shell shock. I think my brain stopped working for a few seconds."

"Am I truly that unapproachable?"

Nyota looked as though she were debating whether to respond honestly. That in itself provided an answer.

My face must have conveyed some dismay.

"It's just that you're incredibly smart. You told me that even among Vulcans, you're something of a genius," she said, defensiveness in her voice.

"I was not aware that there was an inverse relationship between intelligence and social contacts among Terrans. Among Vulcans, there is an direct correspondence between accusations of emotionalism and social contacts."

"That's not true!" she immediately responded. "Being intelligent does not mean you have fewer friends."

I raised my eyebrows. "Then your hypothesis is incorrect."

"I suppose it's also the fact that you're Vulcan. Half Vulcan, half human," she frowned. "Two very different types of people. You've always had work between those extremes and find the point of intersection."

"At the time of our meeting, I was not sure that such a point existed."

Nyota was silent. I elaborated.

"Both species imposed such inflexible standards that compromise seemed impossible. It was as though in order to be accepted in one culture, I was required to totally reject the other. Which, of course, was another impossibility. There are innumerable physiological differences."

"And now?"

I looked at my hands.

"You were not the only student in our sessions together. I received my first lessons on the Terran concept of friendship from you. Although, they are not universally applicable."

"Why not?"

"Dr. McCoy informed me that he and Jim are my friends, but—"

"_Jim_? When did you start calling the captain 'Jim'?"

"I do not address him by that name in public. In any case, Dr. McCoy's definition of friendship must be very different, for I would not classify 73% of his behaviors towards myself or even towards the captain to be 'friendly.' In fact, they are often hostile."

"You just referred to him as 'the captain' again," she accused.

"You also classified the growing relationship between yourself and Mr. Scott as a 'friendship,' but there are some romantic overtones."

Nyota blushed. "You're just trying to distract me from the real subject which is—"

"While we were courting, I was never able to distinguish the difference between our activities while we were 'friends' and the activities while we were a 'couple,' with the exception of those that were obviously related to sexual—"

"Fine, if you don't want to talk about it, we won't talk about it. I'll still figure it out," she pointed her finger at me. "You can be so stubborn and obtuse, sometimes!"

"Jim has leveled similar charges when we play chess."

"Why? What do you do?"

"I choose not to answer his highly probing questions."

Nyota gave a small laugh. "Yeah, that drove me up the wall too."

"Nyota, your colloquialisms—"

"Oh, you know what I mean. Your reticence is borders on paranoia, sometimes."

I stiffened.

"You know I love you, Spock, but getting you to talk about yourself is like pulling teeth from a camel. Not only is it a thorny enterprise, but they spit."

A most unflattering analogy.

"Even more frustrating is the fact that you can extract ten thousand things about a person by simply observing them and analyzing. Things that people aren't even aware of themselves, sometimes. I had no idea that I learned better _kinetically_ until you told me. I didn't even know that kinetic learning existed!

"It's true, what you said. Everyone has their own idea of what friendship is, and every friendship between two people is different. But they're all based on communication—the exchange of ideas between people, and shared memories. You can have those two things and the relationship might not be a friendship. It might be simply an acquaintance, a colleague, a superior, even a stranger. But it's definitely not a friendship if you don't have them at all."

"A calculated argument on your part, Nyota. However, unsuccessful. I will not divulge the point at which I began to think of the captain as 'Jim.'"

Nyota looked supremely annoyed, a look that she rarely gives to me. "It was worth a try," she gave me a swift kiss on my cheek. "But I'm onto you."

With a smirk, she left.

--

"Captain?"

"Yeah?" he looked up from the report I had given him.

"May I call you Jim?"

He fell out of his chair.

"_What_?!"

"While we are on duty, I will of course give you proper deference and address you by rank. It seems incongruous, however, to continue referring to you as 'captain' when we are, for example, playing chess."

The captain continued to stare at me from the floor. Perhaps this was not an appropriate request.

"If you have objections, I will maintain my present—"

"No no no no, you can call me Jim. You can call me Jim when we're on the bridge if you want, too. I have no problem with it," he said, standing up. "I didn't expect it, is all. You came out of the blue."

"The blue, Jim?" I raised my eyebrow. It had its intended effect.

He began laughing.

An intriguing experience.


	52. Ch 52

We have had this argument before.

"You must reassess what constitutes an acceptable risk, captain. The consequences of your actions, while they are your responsibility, are far broader than you are inclined to believe. There are several who are effected by your choices, myself and Dr. McCoy included."

"I can't believe I'm having this discussion with you again. What is this, round four thousand?"

It is necessary to raise the subject matter with the captain.

"Your life is not the only asset at risk when you act without regard for hazards inherent to the situation."

"So you're going to do the whole cost/benefit analysis argument again? I guess that's the only way you know how to argue, with all that logic rammed up your nose. Does it leak out your pointy ears as super logical earwax? Do Vulcans even have earwax?"

Neither he nor I desire to repeat this same debate again. It always ends the same way. The captain, by sheer force of personality and/or superior rank, overrides all my objections and does exactly as he pleases.

"Captain, my reasons for mentioning this subject are not trivial. I have long comprehended and accepted that the very nature of our profession is dangerous. I no longer subscribe to Starfleet's recommended mentality concerning risk management and assessment, therefore you cannot accuse me of 'parroting the Starfleet script,' as you have in the past."

"Oh really? That's news to me, because you're still saying the same old blah blah."

The outcome of those actions vary. In this case, the results were disastrous not only for the diplomatic mission, but they will negatively impact the Federation at large.

"I have heard all your statements justifying the gambles you take, have taken and will take. Some of these explanations are reasonable and I agree with them. Some are completely based on your whims and emotional inclinations."

"No shit, I have emotions? And I act on them? Woah, brilliant analysis, Spock. You're really at the fucking top of your game today."

Terrans are familiar with the phrase "One for all and all for one." The captain in this instance was inclined to act according to the latter half.

"An insult to your pride is not justification for initiating a man-to-man duel and then breaking off diplomatic relations with the Atkinnons."

"What the fuck are you talking about? If anyone should be offended and pissed off, it should be you. Maybe you're okay with them talking shit about you, but I'm not going to sit around and deal with those fucktards if they can't manage to respect my First Officer."

"The Atkinnons' culture is such that those of mixed blood are regarded as—"

"I don't give a fuck about their culture. _You're_ not an Atkinnon, so why the fuck should they treat you like one?"

"Jim, I am used to such slanders and words leveled at me. I do not let them affect my behavior, as you allowed yourself to be affected. This diplomatic mission was of great importance to Starfleet as there are key resources on the planet for rebuilding the fleet."

"Starfleet can go find cretuisium or whatever the fuck they need somewhere else."

"No, they cannot. Starfleet is well aware of the policies of the Atkinnon and also find them to be morally repugnant. However, they are in desperate need of these materials. You cannot afford to take such juvenile attitudes toward these types of scenarios over an offensive cultural practice."

"So what the fuck do you want me to do? Go over and curtsy and pretend it never happened?"

"The damage is done. We may have been able to restart diplomatic talks, but they will have no contact with you, since you killed their Great Minister."

"It's their cultural rules, not mine."

"He almost killed you. Then the entirety of the _Enterprise_ would be at the mercy of the Atkinnons. When you stood and challenged the Great Minister to the duel, did you consider all of the possibilities?"

"Yeah! There was only one fucking possibility—I was gonna fucking kill that bastard who went around thinking he could spit on you."

"_Did you consider all the possibilities_? There was more than one outcome and it is clear that in the moment of your self righteous anger, you did not think of the untenable situation you placed yourself, myself, Nyota, the diplomatic team, the crew of the _Enterprise_, and the Federation. If you had been defeated and killed, we would have been summarily executed, Jim, and the Federation would not have been able to interfere without violating several treaties.

"I do not know why you have suddenly taken a proprietary interest in my honor, but that interest does not justify your actions in the course of this mission, captain. There are times when one stands for what one believes and fights for it, and there are times when other, more vital concerns must take precedence over those beliefs. This was one such incident, and I can personally guarantee you that there will be many more in the future."

"So what're you telling me to do? What the hell am I supposed to do when they sneer and look at you like they want to kill you and fuck your corpse and then chop up the bits and feed them to their dogs?"

"Control yourself. As you say, captain, 'deal with it.' The thought is appreciated, but you must learn to place the needs of many above the needs of the few. You have no difficulty placing the crew's needs above your own. Why do you make an exception for me?"

"No way, there is no way I'm doing that after the whole 'let's kill off half the population to keep the other half alive' bullshit."

"There are times when that attitude is appropriate and needful."

"Fuck you! I'm not gonna let you fucking lecture me on how to do my job—"

"Captain, you are being unreasonable. Your outlook is immature—"

"Who the fuck cares? I'm sick and tired of this bullshit, I don't give a fuck about your lessons on society versus individual or whatever. I made a fucking decision and yeah, I have to live with it—"

"It is not only you who has to live with your decisions, Jim. You have adjusted remarkably well to the responsibilities of your office, but when you act on impulse, you forget those duties and—"

"I don't _ever_ forget my duties, Spock—"

"You act on your personal thoughts and feelings. A captain cannot afford to allow such motivations to cloud his judgment."

"Oh, so now my judgment is compromised?"

"On this mission, it was significantly compromised."

"Okay, fine, you know what? If you're cool with these asshats walking all over you, then fine. I won't do a fucking thing about it next time. Happy?"

"My concerns are not centered around the specifics of the situation but your ability to distinguish between your personal and official duties and balance those two obligations."

"Since you have all the fucking answers, being a Vulcan and all, why don't you answer this one question for me—what the fuck kind of universe do we live in that you've learned to just _accept_ all the illogical hatred and bigotry they hurl at you?"

"Jim, what kind of universe do we live in that you have cultivated a completely aggressive instinct towards any and all hostility leveled at you?"


	53. Ch 53

Jim entered the bridge. He took his seat at his command chair and was silent. The officers around him looked at each other apprehensively.

Among Vulcans, when one commits an error in the chain of one's logical reasoning, one recognizes and acknowledges it, explains the origin of that fallacy, and avoids that particular misstep in the future. Among humans, when one commits an error of any sort, be it some offensive word or act against an individual's emotional sensibilities or a lapse in judgment, one apologizes.

"Report, Commander Spock."

"No anomalies to report, captain. We have received our next assignment and are currently en route to the planet Piegenavyr to collect scientific data. Previous readings indicate that the planet may be suitable for colonization. We will stop at Outpost 51 to collect some necessary supplies. Estimated time of arrival is 1755."

The word 'sorry' is derived from the word 'sorrow,' and the original meaning of the sentence was much stronger than its common use today. The official entry on the Federation database dictionary states that the noun form of 'sorry' meant "pained at heart; distressed, sad; full of grief or sorrow." To be sorry is an emotional condition.

The accepted phrase in Terran Federation Standard is "I am sorry."

"Acknowledged." The captain looked ahead.

For the remainder of his shift, the captain reviewed fifteen reports, completed his own large stack of paperwork, read two articles on improvements in warp core technology, and received a transmission from Starfleet Headquarters.

It is strange that Terrans associate an apology with sorrow. The formal legal definition of 'apology' is "the pleading off from a charge or imputation; defence of a person from accusation or aspersion." An apology in the courts is an explanation, a justification for a whatever crime perceived to have been committed. Theoretically, this designation is closer to the Vulcan act of error acknowledgment.

"Captain Kirk."

"Admiral."

"Would you kindly explain to me why the Atkinnons demand a termination of all relations with the Federation when we expected a radically different outcome?"

"No explanation, sir."

"Does that mean you can't explain or won't."

"Take your pick, sir."

"I am not in the mood to be trifled with, captain. You were given specific orders to obtain a treaty that would allow the Federation to build mining facilities and a space dock on that planet."

"The captain is not responsible for the outcome of that mission, admiral," I stepped forward. "I am."

The captain turned his head and looked at me sharply. The admiral looked mildly shocked.

"You, Commander Spock? I find that hard to believe."

"I neglected to account for a key cultural practice and therefore jeopardized the success of the mission. I recommend, however, the Starfleet send another delegation to the Atkinnons. Though they are a unstable, fickle species, they are not known to hold grudges. A conciliatory gesture will make them amenable to any suggestions."

"You are certain of this?"

"Yes, sir. In fact, Admiral Pike would be an ideal candidate for this mission. He is known among them as an excellent man of solid character, and his status as a Starfleet hero would appease their wounded pride."

"Captain? What is your opinion of this situation?"

"I apologize for placing you and Starfleet in such an _untenable_ situation."

"I would advise, captain, that you do not take such a tone of voice with your superiors."

"Duly noted, sir."

"Commander Spock, I do not think it's necessary to formally write a citation in your files for this. I'm sure it was an unfortunate misunderstanding."

"That is generous, admiral, but unnecessary."

The admiral waved absently. "Nonsense. I'm just glad we got this neatly sorted. Gentlemen, thank you very much."

The view screen went blank. The captain glared at me.

"What the fuck was that."

"The admiral desired to—"

"I do _not_ need you to bail me out of everything."

The captain left the bridge.

_I'm sorry_—"An explanation offered to a person affected by one's action where no offence was intended, coupled with the expression of regret for any that may have been given; or, a frank acknowledgement of the offence with expression of regret for it, by way of reparation."


	54. Ch 54

"Just give him time. He'll come around. _Meno ya mbwa hayaumani_."

"I do not comprehend your meaning. 'The teeth of a dog do not lock together?'"

"It means that brothers don't hurt each other when they fight. I can understand why Jim reacted the way that he did when that Atkinnon Great Minister spat on you," she regarded me seriously. "To be honest, I wanted to kill him too. I just didn't act on it."

"The captain should not have acted on that impulse as well."

"I know where you're coming from, too. It's just... hard to keep level headed and cool when someone's abusing a person you care about."

"I was not subjected to abuse."

She sighed. "Denial doesn't look very good on you, Spock."

"In their context, the actions of the Atkinnons were socially acceptable and therefore—"

"Call it what you want, but there are some things that are absolutely inviolable. Respect for all the life in this universe is one of them."

--

"Just give him time. It takes Jim a couple days to come around. Sometimes he gets it in his head that he's right no matter what."

"Public opinion seems to be divided on this matter."

"Why, you've been polling people?" Dr. McCoy looked up from his desk. He put down his datapad and stylus. "Personally, I think you were right. Jim's a captain, and shaping up to be a pretty good one at that. But it hasn't sunk in that it means sacrificing some things—sometimes good and noble things. He wants to have his cake and eat it too."

"Does he understand the rationale behind my arguments? No matter my personal discomfort, the needs of the Federation take priority—"

"Yeah, he gets it. He hates that you're right in this case, but he gets it. Give him time."

"How many hours does the captain need to integrate this new paradigm?"

"You can never tell with a human, Spock. Maturity's a tricky thing, especially when it comes to Jim."

"Thank you, doctor." I moved to leave.

"Oh, and by the way—Jim's got weird ways of sayin' sorry. Just giving you a heads up."

--

"Commander Spock?"

"Lt. Ozani, Ensign Yeats."

"Um, this is for you, sir."

"The entirety of this package?"

"Yes, sir."

"May I inquire as to the sender?"

"Don't know, sir. We were beaming up some supplies from the outpost and there was this package with your name on it."

I scrutinized the label.

"Um, Commander?"

"Yes, Ensign Yeats?"

"Could you take it? Or let us set it down in your quarters? It's kind of heavy."

I keyed in the sequence for my quarters.

"Place it here, thank you."

"Right, sir. Let us know if there's anything amiss."

"Certainly."

Inside were three items: a finely woven and extremely rare geometric Vulcan tapestry depicting the Mandelbrot Set fractal, the newest model of the Vortex Xai nano-supercomputer, and a slim, worn copy of the _Songs of S'lmon_.


	55. Ch 55

"Um..."

I decided to enlist the aid of Lt. Chekov in resolving a theoretical physics problem that had been occupying me for some time. Lt. Chekov's impressive background in modern mathematics and superstring theory are second only to my own on this ship. Engineer Scott's specialization in warp physics was not required here.

Lt. Sulu, for lack of anything else to occupy him, decided to join our group. He and Lt. Chekov have become close friends.

"Yes, Lt. Chekov?"

"Sir, I—" Lt. Chekov shifted on his feet. He looked at Lt. Sulu, unsure of himself.

Lt. Sulu gave him an encouraging gesture.

I raised my eyebrows expectantly. Clearly, the lieutenant was afraid of my reaction to his pending statement.

"_Ser, wui oshibalis_—I mean, sir, I am thinking you haf made a mistake in your calculations," he said rapidly. "Wery small, but making a difference."

I reviewed my proof.

"If you would point out the mistake, Lt. Chekov."

He jumped to the board, picked up the stylus, and immediately began pointing and writing.

"Right here, sir. We should consider n-dimensional Euclidean space, not R-infinity. Then we are using the normal metric to find the distance between alpha and beta, and this sequence" he scrolled down "is converging because arbitrary Cauchy sequences haf limit."

"I chose to work in the infinite dimensional case because when you apply the result to the seventh superstring—"

"_Nyet, nyet_, it is not needing infinite dimensions. And for this case, it is much easier to look at six dimensional Calabi-Yau manifold."

"That structure was proven by Lipshitz to be unsuitable—"

"It is simplification, _da_, and is not working on Yat-Ming case but for our purposes it is working. We are not needing so many significant figures, Mr. Spock, but approximation within three decimal places is being enough. Now work reduces to—" he rapidly scribbled seventeen lines of proof "—only two cases, easily solved by combinatorial method. Then after we get values, we can—"

"It simply becomes a problem in linear algebra, and implementing spectral decomposition with analysis for the eigenvalues, we will arrive at our answer."

Lt. Chekov beamed, stylus behind his ear. Lt. Sulu glanced between us, the conversation completely lost to him.

"Your solution is sufficient."

"I am knowing this," he said without arrogance. "You are _matematik_, Mr. Spock. _Ya_—physicist. We are approximating ewerything. It is not so bad to be not so exact. We are getting same results."

He continued to stand before the board, attempting to explain to Lt. Sulu the exact nature of our debate. I went to a computer terminal and began to program the necessary protocols. This first program, I estimated, would produce four million 9 × 9 matrices.

Fortunately, the Vortex Xai nano-supercomputer has more than enough processing power to execute all the necessary code.

"Hey, Chekov, Sulu. What's up, Spock?" Jim looked over the calculations and various proofs littered on the board. "Interdimensional physics?"

"You are familiar with the subject, captain?" I looked up briefly from my laptop.

"I think I could hold my own against not-you and not-Chekov. But everyone else, yeah."

"It is a wery interesting problems we are solwing, keptan."

"Maybe for you and Spock," he said, still surveying the board. He let out a low whistle. "Damn, this is some intense shit. What's this all about?" He looked at me.

I did not desire to answer. I concentrated on the code streaming before me.

"Well?"

"As far as I can tell, which isn't very much," Lt. Sulu piped in, they're trying to calculate _your_ effect on space, captain."

Lt. Chekov nodded. "Scotty is saying to Mr. Spock that 'space is acting wery weird around the keptan.' Mr. Spock is asking me to help him find out if that is truth."

Jim could not decide whether to be amused or incredulous. "Do you have an answer? How do you even _calculate_ something like that? Gravity or something?"

"Actually, keptan, Mr. Spock is wondering if he has ewidence for a new force in the uniwerse."

Jim looked at me. "Which would be..."

I continued to program.

"You, keptan. I am already in my mind calling it Kirk-force. It is like weak force, only Kirk."

"Are you shitting me?"

"Pasha here tells me that they've got enough data to do it. All our missions and all. Don't look at me, I'm a biologist," Lt. Sulu said, hands raised in surrender.

"I am trying to teach him some basic quantum mechanics. He does not like it."

I finished my coding and stared at the screen as raw data printed out. The results did not appear promising.

"So, do you have a result yet?" Jim asked.

Lt. Sulu and Lt. Chekov waited, their eyes curious.

I shut my laptop.

"Unfortunately, captain, my code is still compiling."


	56. Ch 56

It is the third day.

Dr. McCoy is dying. I have no further ways to prevent that death.

--

"Spock, you've got this one. We'll be in orbit for seven hours. Collect all the info you need and let me know if anything happens."

"Understood, captain."

"You've got your team?"

I nodded. Based on the Away Team rotation list, Dr. Whitney, Lt. Rainsford, Lt. Zaroff, and Yeoman Bergere were to join me for this scientific mission. Dr. McCoy inserted himself into the team, claiming that his interest was purely for the sake of medical research. Jim had no objections. Dr. McCoy would take tricorder readings for substances with potential medicinal qualities, and the remainder of the team would collect the necessary readings and samples and make our recommendations to Starfleet as to possibilities for the planet.

The planet under investigation, named Piegenavyr, was discovered and scanned several Terran decades ago. Our sensor scans from orbit indicated no civilization or sentient life forms capable of such organization, though the planet was rich in wildlife. Its dense, moist atmosphere and warm climate were ideal for all manner of bacterial, plant, and animal species. The verge resembled that of the tropical Terran rainforests.

"Spock."

"Doctor, is there a problem?"

"No. Yes. No. Damnit man!"

I did not answer.

"Something doesn't feel right. This place feels slimy with evil. It's in the air."

"No reputable scientist has ever proved the existence of an 'evil' particle, doctor. I believe you were required to complete a chemistry course in your medical training."

"Who names a planet Trap-ship?"

"You speak French, doctor?"

"A man's allowed to be a little cultured. That's beside the point. This place is dank and dark and this air's like sucking warm blackness—"

"We are in a jungle. The humidity is significantly higher than the levels which you are accustomed to—"

"I'm from Georgia, Spock! This weather aint nothing compared to some of the sweltering heats they've got there. I'm telling you, this planet, there's something wrong."

"Superstition, and your overactive imagination, doctor. If you have no other concerns, I will end this transmission. Spock out."

--

This was supposed—they all are supposed—to be an ordinary mission. In many respects, that adjective still applies, as the extraordinary and life-threatening have become the norm on the _Enterprise_. Jim, having excelled in the Survival Strategies course at the Academy, now regularly conducts seminars with all crewmembers. He has recruited Security Chief Giotto to assist him in this task. They have gone so far as to devise an exam, and I have programmed several simulations against which the crew are tested. Most of these simulations are based on our actual missions.

This variation is one that neither myself, Jim, nor Mr. Giotto were able to anticipate. It seems that as marvelous and wondrous as the universe is, there exists a complementary perverseness.

--

The first three hours of our investigation yielded intriguing results. Some of the compounds naturally found in the flora may facilitate the cure of the fatal Denobulan disease ucathera and ease the suffering of Tellarites suffering from dyspnea.

"Spock. Are you there?"

"Affirmative, doctor."

" I think you'd better come have a look at this."

"What exactly is 'this,' doctor? Your description is rather vague and nebulous."

"Why don't these idiotic things have cameras on them? Then I could just show you the thing..."

"An intriguing suggestion. However, you have yet to explain what the 'thing' is."

"It looks like a building."

How is it possible that a Terran can transmit through his voice the fact that he is squinting?

"Maybe a Gothic cathedral or a castle of some sort. But it's hard to see through all these thick leaves. I told you something wasn't right!"

"Does it appear to run on any power source?" I asked. This was not indicated in the readings in any way whatsoever.

"There're some light coming on right now. Ya know, I think someone actually lives there—"

There was loud blast, then the communicator transmitted static.

--

If—when—if we return to the _Enterprise_, I will immediately appropriate Mr. Scott's time and we will find a way to significantly improve the design of the communicators. It is absolutely unacceptable that these devices, which the crew, the captain, and myself depend upon, should fail regularly. Jim is in orbit above us, tense and angry, making every effort to find us. There is a 3.22% chance that we will be found alive within the next ten hours. That number vanishes to zero with each half hour interval that passes.

And somewhere in the wilderness of this planet, there is a killer stalking us.

--

My first priorities were to locate Dr. McCoy and notify the captain. As is now habitual on these missions, every channel of the communicator was clogged with some sort of interference. My second priority was to locate the other members of the Away Team before some misfortune could befall upon them.

There was a scream of terror. I identified that it originated from Dr. Whitney. Then the baying of a pack of dogs. I was familiar with those shrill howls. They indicate a successful kill.

--

An explosion. An explosion. An explosion. In rapid succession.

A ricochet. The thud of a falling body. Do not Terrans typically scream or moan or make some type of distressed noise when they are wounded?

Behind us, a soft command spoken with intimate words. There is no doubt as to the instructions: collect them.

I am already carrying McCoy and running. He will not live long if I cannot stop to staunch the blood flow.

I am counting the seconds, weighing the different possibilities for shelter, listening for the padded footsteps of the hounds, assessing McCoy's condition, recalling procedures for immediate treatment. I find that the seconds pass too quickly, all my options for shelter are predictable and therefore unsafe, McCoy is going into shock, and he has been pierced by one, perhaps two metal rounds. But the hounds are not following.

And realize, whether out of mercy or for the sake of prolonging the sport, we are not being pursued.

He is toying with us.

--

In pre-Warp E Terran literature, a man by the name of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle wrote a mystery novel entitled _The Hound of the Baskervilles_. I have often thought the demonic description of that hound to be equally applicable to Augment-hounds except in one key aspect. While most aggressive canines are intractable and difficult to train, Augment-hounds are totally loyal and obedient to their owner. With him, they act as any average dog would. Augment were specifically designed with two purposes in mind: to provide mindless companionship to their master and to hunt.

These canines were prized possessions among the wealthy and powerful. As their name suggets, they were augmented, cross bred and genetically cultivated to possess enhanced olfactory receptors for a finely honed sense of smell, extreme motion based eyesight, extended hearing range, superior agility and musculoskeletal development. While unmodified canines prefer to bark and make as much noise as physically possible in pursuit of their prey, Augment Hounds are virtually silent in the chase. Only when they have overpowered their prey do the dogs howl.

My father once received an Augment Hound as a gift. He politely accepted and after a polite interval, promptly got rid of it. It was extremely violent.

--

We are not being pursued. I take a considerable risk and trust my judgment on this issue. I lay the doctor down on the wet jungle floor, elevating his legs above his head, his spine aligned.

He conscious, eyes shut tight, jaw clenched in pain, knuckles white. He is breathing regularly. There is a pulse. Blood is pooling from his lower back near the T12 vertebrae. There is no exit wound. I cannot see through the blood to determine whether a bullet is lodged there or part of the ricochet. Another wound in his left lower thigh. The bullet entered through the back and exited cleanly. There is shattered bone and I fear a cut in the femoral artery.

I take off both layers of my uniform. With one hand, I press fingers into his groin to cut off the flow of blood. With my other hand and my teeth, I tear long strips. I wad three to make a poor bandage, then wrap another tightly around his upper thigh.

The blood seeps through the blue of my uniform to create a ghastly color. After a moment of continued pressure, it stops.

"Med kit," McCoy gasps.

I do not bother with the hypospray. There is a small aid kit with a dose of morphine and a bandage. I rip through the packaging. McCoy points to his other leg. He immediately relaxes when I jab the drug into his right thigh.

Carefully, I roll McCoy over and work quickly. The pressing damage of the spinal wound. The blood flow is not as severe as the leg. The thought of long term consequences arises, but I push it aside.

I remove what debris I can, wrap the bandage obtained from the kit tightly around his torso, and then return the doctor to his former position.

We cannot stay here.

--

The immediate area of our investigation was approximately 10 km in diameter. I calculated a 15% chance of finding one of the remaining crew members by utilizing standard search procedures. I calculated a 46% chance of locating Dr. McCoy if I cannibalized my communicator's circuits, extracted the coordinates of the previous transmission and directly headed towards that location. There was an 82% chance that he was dead. There was also the castle to consider, the likely origin point of the hounds, the communicator interference, and the 'evil' that Dr. McCoy detected in the atmosphere.

I chose to search for the doctor.

To reduce the likelihood of discovery by the hounds, I laboriously made my way by means of the thick upper tree branches. At times, I was forced to climb back down and find another path. Twice I miscalculated my step and plummeted down through the tangled maze of tree limbs. Four times the branch broke beneath the stress of my weight. It was rapidly becoming dark. As I drew closer to the site of the communicator malfunction, I could see in the distance a tall, ominous stone fortress.

When I reached the vicinity of the site there was no sound of the doctor's distinctive breathing patterns, only the ambient noise of the Piegenavyr jungle. Somehow, the noise seemed to press into my body. There was no corpse, though that did not eliminate the possibility that the doctor was killed and dragged off. The air smelled faintly of a strange oil. An hour previous, I had ridiculed the doctor's reports of an 'evil feeling,' and I have never believed the Terran's myths of spirits and demons. Yet there was unsettling quality about the area, a smell or a sound or a wind that resonated with me instinctually. The lights flickering from the fortress did nothing to dispel my anxiety.

--

"Spock," the doctor rasped.

I gave him water by dampening his lips with a moist rag—the remains of my uniform. "Save your energy, doctor. We are safe, for the time being. We may have to change our location within the hour. I suggest you sleep, to facilitate whatever healing is occurring."

"Jim?"

I was silent.

"You did good," McCoy closed his eyes. "Why're you sticking around? Your chances of survival are a lot higher without me around."

"I will not entertain such a notion."

"It's only logical—"

"There are more considerations that a simple calculus of risks, doctor. In this case, it is not logical to leave you, as the chances of your survival diminish quickly were you alone. Do not use your emotional notions of self sacrifice here, Leonard. They have no relevance to the conversation."

"Damn Vulcan, I'm lying on my deathbed and won't even let me win an argument."

"Sleep, doctor."

--

Hope is an irrational thing.

In the diminishing light, I tracked a path of disturbed vegetation and found the doctor's communicator trampled under some fern-like plants. There was a small black hole precisely in the middle of the device. It likely had been deliberately disabled first, then crushed underfoot. It was likely that the doctor was forcibly taken in an indeterminate state, and it was also likely that the perpetrator or perpetrators resided in the castle.

Examining my options once more, I decided to go towards the castle in hopes that Dr. McCoy would be there.

There were voices when I drew near.

"A disappointment, this doctor. He lasted all but two hours. I was hoping for better sport from our esteemed visitors."

"Eth pothible que el cabrón therá mejor. Mejor mejor mejor. Todavía él ethtá en la selva, loth perroth loth perritoth lo buthcan. O el otro doctor. El otro, theñor, puede cazarlo."

"Ahora es suficiente. Mañana, quizá la mujer. Siempre esperamos, Raúl, siempre esperamos."

"Bueno, theñor, bueno. ¿Y el brrruto?"

"Cállate. Parece que hay alguien. Está por aquí," he cocked his head and let out a small laugh. "Allá arriba."

The man looked directly at me in the darkness. He lit a cigarette, but did not smoke from it.

"You breath much too loudly, sir. Come down from your perch up there in the trees. My dogs, their bark is worse than their bite, I assure you."

--

We must move again. We have remained in one location for an excess of 45 minutes. That is as long as I am willing to risk. I will not use a mind meld with McCoy to redirect his focus on recovering. In this situation, he must be conscious and aware. I have taken the liberty, however, of giving him a low dosage of zanaaxz so that he will not panic in case we are confronted with an emergency.

McCoy is motionless in my arms. I will have to locate a new hiding place quickly. He has lost 1.15 liters of blood, and I have nothing to act as a volume expander. The decreased oxygen flow to his brain and other parts of his body has already effected him critically. I have done all I know to stop the flow, but it steadily trickles out of his wound. If his plasma levels are not immediately replenished, he will be the 64th crewmember to die in the course of this mission.

There will also be complications from his spinal injury. The doctor may pay dearly for my decision to constantly move, if we survive this ordeal. There is some logic to leaving him in that cave, but I will not leave him. The numbers are not favorable either way.

Every minute out in the open brings us closer to our deaths. The scent of his blood will inevitably attract the Augment-hounds. I will use the rivers once more to minimize the trail of scent, but that severely limits our potential paths.

Perhaps I will follow the rivers out to the sea. This river must lead somewhere, whether to its source or an outlet. If Cazador realizes my intent, this game will be over. If I am successful, the doctor and I live to wait another day. Or I live to watch Leonard McCoy die.


	57. Ch 57

"Fate makes all shapes and colors of men. Some are doctors, like your friend outside. Some are emperors and czars. Some have one leg and defecate in their pants and beg for money through crooked teeth. It is all in the genome. You, Fate made—_magnífico_," he raked his eyes over me. "Me, she made an Augment. I was the first of my kind, and the best. The world looked to us as saviors, to deliver them from that terrible yoke of freedom. Because Fate made all men love one thing—slavery."

He is called El Cazador, the hunter. His is Terran, of indeterminate age. Like his beloved hounds, Cazador is from the Eugenics Age on Terra.

After Cazador found me, he insisted that Raúl attend to my every need. I was served a sumptuous meal of rich foods and rare meats. Where he obtains these goods, I am uncertain. The black market, however, is always willing to supply anything to those with sufficient credits.

"But I cared not for such things. My younger brother, he was politically minded. He struggled in that ridiculous Eugenics War that took place. He perished in that struggle, but his death was glorious. It took two teams of specially trained assassins to finally kill him! My brother was desired soft power over men, to rule and fight with nations."

Dr. Whitney was dead. I caught a glimpse of his body being dragged off by the idiot serving man. I did not dwell on the fact that he was heading in the same direction as the dog kennels. My focus had to remain with those who were living and discovering a means to get back to the _Enterprise_. Thus far, there was no sign of Dr. McCoy or the other three personnel.

"I care only for the hunt."

He lit a cigarette but did not smoke.

For the most part, I have remained silent except to ask a few key questions concerning the crew. This does not seem to bother Cazador. He does not answer my questions, but merely smiles.

"I care only for the hunt. A glorious sport, Mr. Spock! The thrill of the chase, of tracking down the quarry. Releasing the bloodhounds and watching them silently run as they catch the scent. You eluded us quite cleverly, but scent can never be hid, and it never lies. My dogs are quite good. Once, a man thought to disguise his scent by soaking his clothes in his companion's blood. He killed him, you see. It was ingenious, but to no avail. My Federico found him, the lovely brute."

He crushed the cigarette and lit another. The smoke wrapped around the lines of his body.

Like all Augments, Cazador is extremely handsome. The proportions of his body almost exactly follow the Terran ancient Hellenic ideals, but there is a flair of the dark and exotic. Terrans would say that Cazador exudes power and sexual confidence. He has been giving me a speculative glances from the moment I stepped into the light of his castle.

"Now, where was I? Ah yes! Fate."

I despise him.

"Fate made all men love slavery. It is the only thing they crave. And she made all men fear death. That is the measure of man, Mr. Spock. That is what separates the hunters from the hunted," he leered.

"Of course, I did not know this when I was a young man. In those days, I hunted animals with such enthusiasm, as only the young and innocent can. There were even a few breeds that I custom ordered from various companies. They were specially engineered to give me the most thrilling hunts of my life.

"Every animal you can imagine, I hunted. All the big cats—lions, tigers, leopards, jaguars, cougars, cheetahs. I have hunted hippopotamus—such vicious creatures, did you know? They nearly snapped my boat in half. Rhinoceros was great fun. I have a specimen of a fine fully tusked African elephant in my study, if you should like to see it. They are extinct, now, I think. I have hunted in all environments, too. The Artic chill is like nothing I have ever felt. There I tracked down the Siberian variety of wolf—the genome of that creature was particularly useful for my third line of Augment-hounds. Polar bears, even whales. Have you read _Moby Dick_, Mr. Spock?"

"No."

"That's unfortunate. I was so inspired that I had a whole white whale created and released. It took some time for it to reach maturity, but I decided to pursue it in the olden style, using a harpoon. Though, I couldn't manage to preserve it. I mangled that delicate white skin so horribly, it couldn't be salvaged. Hunting at sea is not my forte, I'm afraid.

"But after some time passed, the hunt lost its excitement. My brother was out fighting wars against Khan, with Khan, and enjoying it immensely, but I was consumed with melancholy. Boredom set in, that horrible enemy. I have never managed to kill it off. I have hunted it all my life, and still it eludes me," he chuckled at his terrible metaphor.

"I was particularly depressed one morning when my brother paid me a visit. 'Pepito,' he says. '¿Qué tal?' I told him my predicament. I was expecting sympathy, you see, but he laughed at me. That angered me, considerably. But he had the perfect solution to my problem.

'¿Tú no puedes renunciar a la caza? Entonces, ¿por qué no cambias el juego? Es claro, que te aburres cazando estos animales bobos porque no pueden pensar, ni razonar. Mira—yo nunca estoy aburrido, nunca estoy deprimido y desanimado como tú, hermano mío. Es que mi oponente es tan listo como yo. Guerra, Pepito, es el mejor juego del mundo.'

"My dear brother, may he rest in peace. He was wrong. War is not the greatest game in the world. But he had identified exactly the heart of my problem! My quarry could not think, they acted only on instinct. Genetically changed as they were, they were still animals. Though I must say, many men perform worse than swine. They do not last even a single hour against my skill. I have taken to blindfolding myself to give them an advantage.

"Like your Dr. Whitney. A man who lived his entire life in a pristine laboratory, I presume. I caught him first, and was so eager to test my prize that I was reckless. I let him back into the wild almost immediately, and the dogs were so eager to chase after fresh game. The hunt was over in a mere twenty minutes."

I watched as Cazador lit yet another cigarette.

The rules of his game were becoming clear.

"I have found in my experience hunting men, they would rather submit to slavery than be free and hunted. But I have no use for slaves. Game is game, as I say, and Raúl has his fun with those cowards. And death makes men timid. For animals, the threat of death sharpens their senses and their whole body is coiled to fight or flee. For men, I have seen the specter of death utterly disable them. It is like a candle has been blown out. They are dead before I finish them.

"Ms. Bergere, she was that way. Nearly catatonic, then hysterical when I found her. It was a waste of bullet. Your two fine lieutenants, however—now that was excellent sport. Such determined, intelligent creatures, and so loyal to each other. I decided to release the pair of them, since I was so bitterly disappointed by my first hunts. I was beginning to think that this ship had absolutely no good breed in it. It has happened, you know. I lure a ship here and the sailors, or whatever you choose to call them, are hardly worth the effort of the trap.

"The last one, the other doctor. He's quite a brute, I noticed. I watched him in his holding cell, and he was spitting curses like a rattlesnake, shaking his bars and screaming for release. I like spirited game. Too often it interferes with their ability to efficiently analyze and elude, but they put up a terrific fight, right up to death. I have let him roam about, so that I have no idea where he might be. It will make things so much more exciting."

"And my role in all this—?"

"You may participate if you wish. I have decided to spare you. You are too beautiful for me to let go right now. When I am bored of you, which may be a long time, it may be a short time—I can never know these things— I will have to hunt you also," his eyes roamed over my body. "It's such a shame."

"I have no choice in this manner, then."

"Do you find this arrangement distasteful? You have said so little, I confess you are something of a mystery. Men are usually shocked and morally outraged when I am through explaining my life's passion to them. They do not understand, these hunted. They have only the feelings of the hunted, never knowing what it is to be a hunter."

"Then allow me to make myself clear."

He was agile and quick, but I had the advantage of surprise. I reached out with the strongest and most lethal weapon I had.

_Delightful! I do not have the advantage of hunting with my mind, Mr. Spock. I can only imagine the possibilities._

Then his mind reverberated with terror, shock, and agonizing pain.

_You are utterly powerless in this realm._

_I knew_, he gasped_, that you had some of the hunting instinct in you._

Physically, he doubled over as I wreaked havoc on his nervous system and triggered the sequence for cardiac arrest.

_Don't do it._

I ignored the voice.

_Don't do it, Spock. This isn't you_.

Control was transforming into a deep, festering rage. The years of Surak's teachings were evaporating as I recognized in Cazador the same killer instinct in myself. He laughed.

_This is what the thrill of the hunt is like, Mr. Spock._

Suddenly, the teeming blood of my ancestors surged down my forearms and pulsed in my fingers and the only thing I desired was to sear this man and shred his _katra_ with the ancient fires of Vulcan, now burning in my mind. I was losing myself in a slow fever brought on by war-lust, enthralled at the prospect that _at last, I have found a worthy enemy and I will __die a conqueror's death._

_Spock!_

I let go.

I was aching with anticipation, my body tense and palms dark green at the thought of death and battle.

It was imperative that I disable the interfering device and find Dr. McCoy.


	58. Ch 58

"Let me get this straight," the doctor hissed. "You attacked the guy telepathically with the intent of killing him, did some major and probably irreparable damage on his organs, and you didn't bother to _finish him off_?!"

I was exhausted. The bloodlust had honed my senses and greatly helped me in my search for Dr. McCoy, but its effects were now wearing off.

"I am uncertain that it is Cazador, doctor," I said wearily. We had to keep moving.

"Well who else can control those goddamn hounds?! It's gotta be him! And now he's on the warpath to get _us_! Probably to slice and dice _you_ in every way he can."

"I am aware of this, Leonard."

"What did you just call me? Of all the times to start using my first name, you choose _now_? Christ, you've got the worst timing out of anyone I've met in this universe!"

"Lower your voice doctor. The sound carries quite far."

"I know that!" he practically shouted. His voice dropped back down to a whisper. "Did you have any luck contacting Jim?"

"Both our communicators were damaged beyond repair. I could not find any equipment by which Cazador communicates with ships, though he indicated that he lured them in by some means."

"Damn ship trapping planet."

"We will have to survive until Jim finds us."

"If he finds us."

"When he finds us, doctor. He is proficient at search and rescue missions."

McCoy snorted. "I'll say, he better be. I'm not up for a game of jungle hide and seek."

"Agreed, doctor."

--

Leonard McCoy is losing consciousness. He must be anchored.

I have no more shirts to use for bandages. The blood oozes out of the saturated cloths.

I use the pressure point along the femoral artery again to stop the blood flow. With my other hand, I gently press against the doctor's psi points.

There is a 97% chance that I will never emerge from this meld.

I plunge into the doctor's mind.

--

_You told me you didn't believe in any kind of chivalric tomfoolery. And here you are, in my mind, trying to save me. Now I'm not one to point fingers, but humans call that hypocrisy, Spock._

Even as his brain shuts down from low oxygen flow, McCoy is arguing with me.

_I'm curious, have you ever stopped and, oh I dunno, thought about what you're doing here? Are you sure that this is what logic and all that great math dictates?_

_Would you prefer that I leave, Leonard?_

_It's not worth it to lose two lives, when you can survive on your own. Jim needs at least one of us._

_Your life is valuable in and of itself, not because you serve under James T. Kirk or are a dedicated and ingenious physician._

_Yeah? And what about you? What about the value of your life? This mind meld thing works both ways, and I can see—_

_I am a Vulcan, of my father's house. My duty is to Vulcan and our house, first and foremost. I am Captain Kirk's First Officer. That is my second duty._

_Sometimes, you spew more bullshit than Jim._

_You are entitled to an opinion, doctor. Your mind is almost completely anchored back in the barbed web of your subconsciousness._

_Good. This aint natural, you pokin'around in my brain like it's a neat science experiment._

_Your subconscious is surprisingly articulate._

_Well that's because I'm anchored right here. Not in my head, but in my heart. And don't get all semantic about it, you know what I mean. Now scat. Jim's out there, worrying like hell, but the sounds of it._

--

"Fuck, Spock! Don't scare me like that!"

"Captain?"

"I thought you and Bones were fucking dead. Ugh," he put his hands to his head. "Now I've got a fucking migraine."

The medical team attended to Dr. McCoy. Jim grabbed a tricorder and began to take readings of my physical condition.

"I assure you, Jim, I am in stable condition."

"Nyota said she'd kill me if I didn't send up your readings to her as soon as I found you. I don't wanna take any chances."

I was about to make some comment, he glared at me. "I thought you both were dead. So shut up and let me enjoy the fact that I managed to escape the universe majorly shitting on me, again."

After he was satisfied with the readings and the medical team had secured Dr. McCoy the captain ordered,

"Mr. Scott? Six to beam up."

He looked at me as I took my place beside him.

"We've got to fix those fucking communicators."


	59. Ch 59

In this galaxy, despite the vast area it covers on the space-time continuum and the incredible number of planets inhabited with sentient life, one rarely is presented with the opportunity to communicate with a species such as the Teknosapiens.

The Teknosapiens were once similar to humans. They were a totally organic, carbon based life forms with DNA, formed around a central vertebrae, bipeds with hand that had digits and an opposable thumb. The cranial structure and nervous system had some key differences, but in all important aspects, they were humanoid. Now, they are not. They occupy a class entirely their own.

The Teknosapiens inhabit a Class M planet almost exactly like that of Terra. The history and development of the species almost exactly parallels that of pre-Warp humans. The two species diverge in one key event: the Eugenics Wars.

While the humans of Earth focused their scientific endeavors on genetics and the creation of a superhuman species, the Sapiens focused on computer technology and the creation of superintelligence. The birth of the first Terran Augment occurred at approximately the same time the Sapiens accomplished artificial intelligence. The outbreak of World War III coincides with a point in Sapien evolution they refer to as the Singularity—the birth of computer superintelligence.

Singularity precipitated a series of crises and world conflicts. The first superintelligence was designed with the intent to unite the divided Sapien nations and maintain peace on the planet. However, as a superintelligent entity, it modified its own programming and evaluated the whole of the Sapien species. Sifr, as the computer called itself, came to the conclusion that it was necessary to exterminate them. It did not consider Sapiens to be a sustainable species and compared their collective behavior to that of a parasite infecting the world.

Desperate to survive, Sapiens tried to engage in a suicidal war against Sifr, fearful that it would destroy them. Enormous cyberbattles took place on the planet's networks, with Sapiens at a clear disadvantage. These battles inflicted real damage on their physical infrastructure, as their world had become reliant on computers and interconnected through several layers of intricate networking.

A Sapien by the name of Tao Xi Shen decided that the only way the species could survive Singularity was to fight using another superintelligent computer. He modified the original priorities to create an entity that recognized the value of individuals. Rather than regard Sapiens as a single monolithic species, the new superintelligence was designed to consider the worth of every sentient being. When the superintelligence was born, it modified its own definitions of sentience to include all life forms. It called itself Aleph.

However, due to the fundamental differences between the principles of one and many, diversity and unification, zero and infinity, the war came to a stalemate. After decades of skirmishes and confrontations, the two superintelligences finally agreed on a treaty. The Sapiens were included in the peace talks, though for the most part, they could not begin to comprehend the discussion.

They did understand this: a new species was to be created. Sapien embryos were integrated with circuitry to create a breed of living machine. These machines would integrate the polarized superintelligences with the Sapien ability to be at once different and the same—and individual and a member of a greater species. Thus, the superintelligent Teknosapiens came into existence.

I had the opportunity to conduct a meld with this vast intelligence, to see its mind and share its thoughts.

It was not what I expected. And it is like nothing I have ever experienced. Instead of two distinct entities occupying the same mindspace, the superintelligence poured into every crevice of my mind, like water flowing between pebbles. I could not tell whose voice was whose. It was like speaking to a mirror that sometimes was concave, then convex, then held no image, then exceeded the boundaries of the space.

--

It is dark.

I am alone.

I am—who? Where who what

VulcanScienceOfficerFirstOfficerStarfleet

Insufficient data.

VulcanSonofSarekAncientHouseSonofAmandaTerran. They call me a mongrel.

four nitrogen bases with deoxyribonucleic acid sugar phosphate backbone

bipid vertebrae warm blooded opposable thumb copper based blood hair heart lungs eyes brain

FollowerofSurakDiasporaHebrewpeopleinmyveins

Brain. Consciousness subconciousness memory intellect

ComputersMathematicsPhysicsLinguistics. PublishedinalllanguagesoftheFederationprestigiouspaperswellreceiveddecoratedStarfleetofficer.

Rational

∑ (parts) ≠ whole.

Define parts, define whole. I have chosen my parts. I have chosen my path.

Fallacy. Erroneous conclusion. Exists a finer topology.

Touch telepathy. Bridges gaps between species. Communicate comprehend translate understand words.

And meanings besides?

Love.

Clarify, please.

Of learning. Of discovery. Of seeking and searching and finding and everything new. Darkness reaching out to darkness.

Thoughts. Seeing touching smelling breathing walking new planets new creatures new sun new sky.

Cold love. Who are you?

Renown throughout the galaxy. Fame. Name spreading throughout. Admired. Position place station coveted. Fortunate.

Opinions change, species vanish. All die. When they are gone, what is left?

History. Legacy. Federation databases. Memory Alpha, Starfleet records, decorations, commendations. Textbooks biographers tomes encyclopedia entries. My papers.

A cold memory, a marble monument. Who are you?

Son of Vulcan. Son of Terra.

An abstraction.

I am free.

An ideal. Cannot be free when you stand in darkness.

May go do be learn read write speak say breathe fight live die as I please.

Feel?

Irrelevant.

Accepted?

mother human whore father alien freak bastard unnatural weird different not null negate negation boundary line demarcate palms blood ears face skin written in my body.

Cannot change. Chose my path. Will follow it.

Loved?

Fear. Always try to change me expectations pressing want desire long acceptance resigned.

I am alone.

Fool.

?

You are a fool.

Justify statement.

Mother. Always has and always will love you. Whatever you choose, you will always have a proud mother.

Is dead. Terran katras disappear. Melt. Dissolve. Cannot use future tense.

Father.

Is Vulcan.

He knew love. Honest. Found love transcended all sacrificed much. Knows sorrow grief katra split with pain but knew real love. Does not regret her, is thankful she lives on in you.

Unfounded speculation.

Nyota.

Is Terran.

Ndugu. Sister. Sees you, accepts. Part of her is in you, part of you is in her. Bask in light of her smile hear the sound of her laughter. First Contact. Damu nzito kuliko maji.

Mfukuzwa kwao hana pakwenda. He who is expelled from home has nowhere to go.

Leonard McCoy.

Is irrational.

You frustrate infuriate incomprehensible yet he is always there like steady heartbeat pushing and pulling but always there. More than simple colleague. Tries, reaches for middle ground. Does not always find it, but always tries.

Montgomery Scott.

?

Respect. Easy character. Tolerance. Good man. Colleague. Proud to work with you, glad you work with him. Friends come in many forms.

Pavel Andreyevich.

Is young. Naive.

Brilliant mind. Sincere hopeful. Eager bright. Reliable. Resonating, strong funny person underneath uniform. Do injustic to overlook and take for granted.

Hikaru Sulu Christine Chapel M'Benga Christopher Pike Enterprise USS. Names known, faces recognized, worked and labored, shared. Memories with people.

People die. Terran memories fade. Bodies decay, accidents occur, premature death, blood spills and flows. No permanence.

So seek solace in status and statutes and statues?

There is nothing else.

Chase shadows and study shades. Like those trapped in the cave.

Come forward and stand in the light.

where who when what how

Who are you?

_He's Spock. Sorry to interrupt, but can you wrap up this little conversation you guys are having here, or take it somewhere else? The Away Team members are kind of freaking out._

What is your name?

_My name is James Tiberius Kirk. I think that one of the Aleph servers is hosting me, so I'm not hacking, this time. For real. He said it'd be okay. __Um, Spock, you need anything else?_

Sufficient.

_Great. Thanks for letting us visit and showing us around, by the way. I'm gonna head up to the ship now. Spock—we've gotta head out in about three hours._

Acknowledged.

_This is so weird. Cool, but weird. I guess it's uh, Kirk out?_

Light streams through the darkness.

whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge

Do you see, S'chn T'gai Spock?

Jina jema hungara gizani. A good name shines in the dark.


	60. Ch 60

ATTN  
To: All personnel with Away Mission experience  
From: Commander Spock, Lt. Commander Scott

It has come to the attention of the Command Officers that the current model of communicator is deficient in several aspects. The consistent failure of these devices during Away Missions has become an unacceptable liability. Captain Kirk has designated the modification and improvement of the communicators as a top priority, and for this purpose has created a team of scientists and engineers dedicated to the task.

In the process of our discussions and debates concerning a superior prototype, it was proposed that the communicators might host more than their primary function. Additions were suggested, such as equipping the communicators with the means to send text based messages, pictures, video recordings, and 3-D scans.

The design team requests that all personnel submit ideas concerning possible enhancements, as well as any relevant comments or complaints about their experience with communicator use. All feedback is appreciated.

--

Lt. Griego—I think the communicators are fine the way they are. Adding all that extra stuff, you might as well make it a tricorder. The purpose of those things are to communicate between people and to the ship. There's no need for extra bells and whistles.

Ensign Kaldunya—A map. I want to know where I am when I'm wandering on some unknown planet! The last time I went on an Away Mission, I almost fell off a cliff. Another time, we got stranded near a methane vent. The sensors on board would've been able to tell us about all this, if we had some sort of map.

Ensign Gupta—Some of the Away Missions get boring. Can you make it a communicator-holovid player?

Dr. Mercas—Would it not be best to devote all the resources, whether it be power or range, to the communicating mechanism? As I understand, the reason that these devices are so delicate because it is difficult to amplify the broadcasting signal. Any extras would leave less power with which the communicator is able to function.

Ensign Kaspher-Rifkin—A camera would be dead useful. Can't tell you how many times I've tried to describe something to the captain or some officer, but couldn't because it was too weird.

Lt. Phrataborn—Two way tracker!!! Why do we always go off on our own on these missions? Why can't we do the buddy system or something? Yeah, I KNOW we can just beam back up or whatever, but it's just so much easier to know where we all are! Remember that time we were delayed for four hours because Lt. Ingers and Ensign Oppenheimer went off in the woods to "observe the shrubbery?" That wouldn't have happened AT ALL if we could've just found them (lying naked like Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden...).

Yeoman Barrows—Maybe instead of making one communicator, you could make several different types, each for a different purpose. They would all communicate with the ship, obviously. But my life would be so much easier if I could just have all my recording devices and communicator in one package. All of those new things mentioned, like the video recorder, would be great. I'd personally like a voice-to-text program included, with the ability to download those files from the communicator. Maybe you could add memory drives?

Yeoman Phuong—Two words: emergency signal.

Yeoman Haamel—Is there some way to rig it or make a button so that you could use it as a weapon? To lob it like a hand grenade. I'm not allowed to carry a phaser, since I haven't got my certification yet, but there was one time when I was confronted by some veeeeery hostile natives. Lt. Uhura never really told me the whole story about what they were planning on doing to me, but I think it involved some ritual human sacrifice, cutting out the heart and all those bits. The only thing I wanted was for my communicator to turn into a bomb. There has to be a way that you could include some sort TNT-like do-hicky.

Ensign Ensinging—Finally! It's about time someone fixed these things! And make them smaller! Why are we carrying around a clunky box? Forget all that extra crap, just make the damn things smaller!

Lt. Sacchi—An increase in microphone sensitivity would be useful. As a security officer, I often find myself in situations where I need to communicate with the other members of the Away Team, but was unable to use my communicator because it would give away my position to the enemy. Converting them to hands-free devices, like earpieces, would also constitute a strategic improvement.

Dr. Eerastom—Universal translator, with the ability to upgrade the program as new editions come out.

Lt. Jo—Just push a button or enter in a sequence if you want to beam up. These things should be registered in the transporter's computer banks, so you have an automatic lock in, and the technician just has to punch in his own sequence to confirm beam up. Why do we have to use voice commands?

Dr. Karamzin—The design philosophy of these devices is quite archaic, and I applaud the captain on his decision to reconsider the current utility of these pieces. In all honesty, I quite believe that they belong in a museum. That being said, there have been some remarkable improvements in communications technology since we have embarked on our journey. The most important of those new advances is actually in encryption technology. The signal of our communicators is at this time absolutely unprotected. They are the weakest point in our otherwise secure network, and these devices are ideal for exploitation by signal transmission hackers. While this may not be of importance during regular scientific missions, it is vital to the security of diplomatic missions. Already there have been occurrences in Starfleet where communications were disrupted and hacked, endangering and significantly influencing the outcome. However, as encryption takes energy, it may be prudent to create special communicators specifically to be used on diplomatic missions.

Dr. McCoy—Make the damn things calibrate or align or whatever you call it automatically. When I'm in mortal danger, I sure as hell don't want to be fiddling around with a tiny dial to find signal.

Lt. Uhura—Why wasn't I, or anyone in my department, included on the design team? Who better to ask about communicator design than the _Communications Department_? We're the ones who have to detect these pinpricks of signal amidst all the background noise of space, and we know better than anyone else the problems involved there. For example, did it occur to you that the signal _receivers_ might need to be redesigned also?

Lt. Sulu—As a veteran member of various rescue teams, it would be pretty useful for the communicators to transmit automatically the coordinates of their last position before they died or got overwhelmed by interference. Or better yet, transmit their coordinates every few minutes, so that we have a nice visual of position vs. time. That way, I don't feel like I'm taking shots in the dark when we choose a spot to start searching.

Captain Kirk—I don't care what else you do, just boost the fucking signal. I want it to cut through _any_ interference. Even shit we haven't encountered yet. You guys are geniuses. Make it happen.

--

"It's quite an interestin' list we've collected here, Mr. Spock. I didn't think o' about half of these."

"Given that all proposals were put forward with the assumption that communicators ought to serve a distinct secondary purpose, I believe it will be necessary to develop a wide range of devices. We will have to completely reconsider their architecture, and reconfigure all components with respect to the underlying function."

"Aye, but we can't very well take apart all the communicators and reassemble 'em by hand. And it'll take us time enough to figure a way to boost the signal, like the captain wants. That, in my opinion, is the first thing we've got to work on. Everythin' else's extra."

"There is also Nyota's suggestion to consider."

"I'm not too sure yeh can do too much about that. Most of those receivers come in one big package, and it'd be hard to put in any little upgrades. I might just send in a maintenance request to Starfleet to give us some newer receivers.

"Besides, I'd have teh fix them up on the outside of the ship, and the only time we're stayin' still long enough is when we're in orbit for a mission, which is exactly when they'll be needin' those receivers. It's better to focus on the communicators first. I'll look over the schematics of the receivers later, ta see if I could do something ta boost the power."

"I will also study the schematics. With regards to the communicators, if we continue to limit its use solely to that of communication, it would be advantageous to decrease the size. Though, as I understand, this involves some tradeoffs."

"It's a matter of power. Yeh're tryin' to send a signal directly from a tiny machine the size of your palm up through the atmosphere, space, through the magnetic fields out there, and to hit a receiver of a spaceship that might or might not be orbiting right in the sweet spot for comm waves. That's without any help from a pre-established network on the ground that could give it a nice boost. Really, I'm amazed that these little lads don't fail _more_ often than they do.

"I skimmed through the articles for these communicators, and they did make some interestin' decisions. For example, they gave up signal boost for the ability to make message transmission, relay, and reception instantaneous. Typically, there'd be a bit of a lag between talking, what with the ship being in orbit while we're down on the ground, but the engineer thought it'd be better to devote lots of complicated circuitry—and energy—to make comms go a wee bit faster than the speed of light.

"Quite a nifty bit of engineering, really. She took the same technology that lets us transmit messages to Starfleet a little faster than warp and miniaturized it. I mean, it only gives comms a slight edge, but there it is. Now, I think that we could make the signal stronger if we sacrificed on that."

"It would be necessary to experiment to determine the ideal balance between communications lag and signal strength. Instantaneous communication is invaluable, and there have been mission in which a difference of mere seconds could have led to disastrous results."

"Say, Mr. Spock?"

"Yes?"

"Did yeh happen to pick up any new technology in that meld with the Teknosapiens?"

"Several, but none that would help us in our endeavor to improve the communicators."

"Not even a new energy source? If I could strap on some antimatter pods to power these things, I'd do it. It's the other way to get around our problems."

"Brute force, Mr. Scott?"

"Tried and true."

"That would certainly allow Yeoman Haamel to use his communicator as a hand grenade, one that could possibly rip a hole into space-time."

Engineer Scott chuckled.

"Hey guys. Working hard, or hardly working?"

"We're just goin' over some of these comments here. Mr. Spock and I thought we should make some executive decisions first, then let the lads go at it. It'll be just like my first nanoelectronics lab, gutted circuits and microtransistors everywhere."

"Wanna fill me in on these 'executive decisions' before you go and destroy every communicator I've got on this ship?"

"We have not come to agreement on the necessary modifications yet, Jim. When we do, you may be sure that I will notify you immediately."

Jim nodded. "Kay, good. If that's all, I'm gonna go see how Bones's doing. He hates being all laid up—" Jim rolled his eyes. "And he wonders why I avoid Sickbay."

He moved to exit the lab.

"Oh, and Spock—wanna have lunch with me at 1400?"

I blinked. I have never shared a meal with the captain before. His dining companions usually consist of various combinations of Dr. McCoy, Engineer Scott, random crewmembers, and members of the security squads.

"I would not be averse to the experience."

Jim grinned. "Great. I'll see you then."

When I turned back to Lt. Commander Scott to recommence our discussion, he was looking at me, jovial.

"If I didn't know better, Mr. Spock, I'd've sworn you were smiling."


	61. Ch 61

"Spock! Over here," Jim motioned.

Nyota joined us. "Can I sit, or is this an all boy's club?"

"No, go ahead and sit down."

"How was the doctor's condition today, captain?"

"He's okay. M'Benga says he's making steady recovery. The shattered bone in his leg—the femur?—it'll take a little while and some mild physical therapy to get him back to 100%, but everything else'll be good."

"He is certain that there are no aftereffects from the spinal injury?"

"Yeah. It was just a bit of shrapnel. Tricorder readings and deep image scans came up negative on everything. You did everything perfectly, Spock, as usual. Bones'll be back and yelling at us before you know it," Jim smiled, then enthusiastically began eating.

"_What_ are you eating?" Nyota pointed at Jim's plate.

He chewed, then swallowed with some effort. "You remember that gift we got from the NFarina Ambassador?"

"I remember it looked slimy and inedible."

"It's not so bad. I tried some, just for the heck of it. Kinda tastes like venison, only gooier. If that makes any sense."

I was slightly alarmed.

"Jim, are you certain that your meal is compatible with your digestive system?"

"Yeah, I had some two days ago. I'm still alive," he shrugged, then took another bite as if to prove a point. His eyes wandered to my plate as he chewed. "Okay, this's been bugging me for a while—you don't eat much."

"When did you start keeping track of his meals?" Nyota asked.

"I don't keep track, I just said that I noticed it."

Nyota raised her eyebrows.

"Anyway, you don't eat much, but your body temperature is higher than normal human blood temperature. And you're vegetarian, or vegan or whatever it is."

"The term 'vegan' best describes the Vulcan practice."

"Right. What do you do, extract extra energy from the air or something? Or maybe Vulcans have green blood because it's like plants with chlorophyll?"

"Jim, you are not making sense. I request that you rephrase your question."

"He's asking how you're able to eat so little and still function, given that your body temperature is elevated. That energy has to come from some chemical source, but your caloric intake isn't sufficient to maintain that kind of state. You have a higher metabolic rate too, don't you?"

"What she said," Jim pointed his utensil at Nyota.

I nodded. "Vulcan digestive systems are somewhat similar to those of Terrans, but in addition to processing those nutrients necessary for humans, we are able to digest cellulose, as we naturally produce the enzyme cellulase. It has been hypothesized that we developed this ability in the course of our evolution. As a desert species, it was necessary to utilize everything consumed and convert it to energy."

"So basically when you can extract a ton more energy from eating lettuce and celery than I can."

"That is essentially correct, Jim."

Nyota frowned. "Don't cows digest cellulose?"

"The domestic Terran bovines do digest cellulose." Before the captain could make some inane comment, I said, "However, as you have had opportunity to witness on several occasions, Vulcans do not 'chew cud.'"

Jim snorted into his drink. He began coughing.

Nyota muttered a phrase concerning "strange mental images."

When he recovered, Jim glanced at Nyota's meal. "You're vegetarian too? For Spock?"

"It was her own decision, captain."

"I was vegetarian before I met Spock, Jim."

"Why?"

"Habit, mostly. Some of my friends back home were practicing Muslims, so I grew up in that culture. But there are some other reasons why I decided not to eat meat or fish. Despite all our great technology most of the meat comes from animals raised in factory farms, and those facilities are absolute nightmares for _any_ living creature, let alone a pig or chicken. Besides, Earth's grain should be allocated to better things than feeding tons of cows every year. We still haven't eliminated world hunger."

"But you're just one person. It's not really gonna matter whether you eat meat or not—they're not gonna change the industry and everything for you."

"True. That's not really the point, though."

"Then what is?"

"Jim, the choice to abstain from eating animal products is rather complex. Terrans may be motivated by several reasons. For example, some choose to do so because it is a political or economic cause. Nyota's choice was of a personal nature."

"What difference does it make if the food is all replicated anyway? There was never an animal killed, just a bunch of atoms slapped together to make a decent chicken sandwich."

"Replicators are the mainstay for sustenance aboard this ship, Jim."

"They've never been that popular, at least outside Starfleet. They're expensive to buy, develop, program, and even in the best models—like the ones we have where the molecules are actually put together accurately—the food always tastes bland."

"But, on our diplomatic missions, I've seen you eat meat. Or a killed animal, at least."

"I never partake in the offerings, Jim. You, as the captain of this ship and formal representative of the Federation, are obligated to participate, but as your subordinate, I am under no such contract."

"I'm not a strict vegetarian like Spock. If I have to eat meat on a diplomatic mission to keep the people happy and our dealings smooth, then I'll do it," Nyota shrugged. "You'd do the same, captain. You're not the only one who'll do anything to keep this ship flying."

Jim was about to interject, but Nyota continued. "There's a saying—_la__ kuvunda halina rubani_. A vessel running aground has no captain. So really, keeping the _Enterprise_ in space is largely a matter of ensuring you're her captain. Captain," Nyota teased.

"Hey, does this mean I can call you Nyota now?"

"Only if you want me to set four more security guys on you."

"Great! Nyota it is."


	62. Ch 62

"_Nyet, nyet_. There is nothing better than Russian wodka! This Scotch you are drinking, it is like barley water. You have experienced _na_sing until you haf drunk to the health of the motherland with the finest 100 proof bottle. I am knowing this firsthand."

"Where I come from, lad, that's soda pop. Now this—" Mr. Scott pulled out a glass bottle of considerable age from a paper bag "—this is a drink for a man."

"Scotch?"

"Aye."

"Are you out of your goddamn mind? There is nothin' that'll beat a good, solid Kentucky bourbon. That really hits the spot."

"Bourbon was inwented by _moya babushka__,_ my grandmother!"

"Why do you guys all go for the hard stuff? I'm more of a beer kinda guy. Actually, I could go for some sake bombing right now."

"Ye-ah, that's where it's at," Lt. Sulu grinned. He and the captain exchanged some complicated hand interactions involving fists to demonstrate their agreement.

Lt. Chekov shook his head. "You are having horrible taste,_ druzya_ _moyi_."

"Pasha's just bitter I whooped his ass at beer holo-pong last time. You'd think that a guy who can lock onto transporter signals like him could get at least one ball into a cup. It's not that hard."

"What about you, Spock?"

"What're ya askin' him for, Jim? Vulcans wouldn't do something as illogical as get drunk."

"Dr. McCoy is correct, captain."

"C'mon. What's your poison. You guys have gotta have one."

"Poison. I believe that is an apt term for it. The damage you willingly inflict upon yourself is beyond my comprehension. Not only do you place considerable stress on your liver, but you also destroy your brain cells in the process of becoming extremely inebriated."

"You're avoiding the question. That means there's something."

"I assure you, Jim, there is nothing."

"Jesus Christ, I think I remember!" Leonard McCoy began to laugh deeply from where he lay in his biobed.

I save the life of this man, and he thanks me thus?

"You are knowing, doctor?" Lt. Chekov asked, his voice too curious.

The laughter escalated. "Goddamnit this is _hilarious_," he wheezed. Between laughs and gasps for air, he managed to say, "I thought you guys never lied."

"I fail to understand your meaning, Leonard."

For reasons unknown, this threw the doctor into another fit. He howled.

"_What_ is going on in here? I smell ethanol," Nurse Chapel bustled in. "Plying this man alcohol, in this state? What were you _thinking_? No, don't answer, I don't want to know."

Mr. Scott, Lt. Sulu, Lt. Chekov, and Jim began to make various noises of protest.

"No, I'll have none of it. Out all of you. Leonard McCoy needs peace and quiet to make a full recovery, not you lot of hooligans," she herded us out the Sickbay. "Out! Back to battle stations, go bother someone else."

Much to the captain's consternation, Nurse Chapel shooed him out, ignoring all his statements to the effect of "I'm captain of this ship, and I have to ascertain that my CMO is in good health and..."

I was about to leave quickly to work on some projects in the laboratory, but

"Hey, Spock, where'dya think you're going?"

That was when the captain got one of his ideas. He turned to Nurse Chapel.

"Okay, fine, we'll leave him alone. But can you help us out with something? We need to know the answer to this question."

Mr. Scott, Lt. Sulu, and Lt. Chekov all listened attentively, having anticipated the nature of the captain's inquiry. Nurse Chapel frowned.

"If I can give an answer, I'll try."

"Do Vulcans get drunk or high off anything?"

"High? No, I don't think so," she shook her head. "But chocolate does effect them horribly. I suppose it would be like their equivalent to tequila or rum. Some sort of strong spirit."

The captain's face split into a wide grin.

"Will that be all?"

"Yeah, that's perfect. Thanks so much. Uh, tell Bones I'll see him around."

Nurse Chapel returned to the Sickbay.

I faced the four humans. They were all attempting to control the expression on their faces and failing miserably, with the exception of the captain. He sauntered towards me.

"So, Spock—"

"No."

"Oh come on! Once. It'll be fun!"


	63. Ch 63

"What am I supposed to _say_, Bones? They're expecting me to say something and I have no idea what the fuck I should tell them," the captain whispered harshly.

"Just stick to the Starfleet script. Things like these, people take comfort in rituals, order, things that're solid. You don't have to say anything."

"But I _should_. Three guys died because I ordered them on that team, Bones."

"Jim, just calm down. Take a few deep breaths. More'n anything, you're a captain, their leader. They don't expect any great words, just an honest ceremony in remembrance."

"You keep talking about the crew."

"I keep talking about the living. You keep talking about the dead."

"Fuck Bones. Fuck."

"Don't be too hard on yourself, Jim."

"When I took this job, I knew shit like this would happen, but I didn't think... I didn't know... realize—"

"Reality always puts a different spin on things. You'll get the hang of it."

"What, giving funeral services? Fuck, you make it sound like I'm working a morgue."

"It's just nerves, Jim. It's your first time doing this, like you said, it comes part and parcel with your job. You've got to take the lumps too, and this is one of 'em."

"I don't think this is ever gonna get easier. I hate funerals, I hate remembering and going back and having this whole ceremony dedicated to the past. My script, it's all 'he was.' No 'will be.' Unless you flip to page 177, where they have instructions for non-secular services," he laughed weakly. "Then there's 'will be.' In the afterlife."

"Captain? We've finished setting up the broadcast for the service," an engineer interrupted.

"Right. Thanks." The captain peered onto the stage. "I have to speak in front of a podium."

"Just think of it like another job. Another mission."

The captain inhaled deeply, ostensibly to calm himself.

"What'm I supposed to say, Bones? What'm I supposed to say?"

"Do what you do best. Improvise."

--

[Name] was a valuable member of the crew aboard the [ship]. He/she was well respected and admired among her/his colleagues in the [department]. Born on [DOB] on [region], [name] enlisted in Starfleet in [stardate] and graduated on [stardate]. He/she was an active member in [organization/activity] and specialized in [concentration]. He/she enjoyed [list]. On [ship], [name] was instrumental in [describe particular project/mission], when he/she [account of actions]. But more than the accomplishments of [name], we will remember and honor his/her life as we journey through this galaxy, in search of new worlds. He/she was part of an incredible exploration, a mission to discover and meet the life that shines in this universe. He/she will be greatly missed among us and we mourn that loss. Yet we must never forget our mission, the mission for which [name] sacrificed all. While it is true that death is the last frontier, we are dedicated to space—the final frontier. We explore strange new worlds, seek out new life and new civilizations, and boldly go where no man has gone before.

--

"The script is really shitty."

"Starfleet hired several professional writers to compose a suitable formula for a eulogy. The Admiralty determined that this was the best candidate among the choices."

"I'm not going to follow it."

"Captain, that is not advisable. While you may consider the language in the script to be bland and impersonal, the writers were specifically instructed to compose their submission using a list of accepted, neutral words. The current script avoids the violation of 90% cultural taboos, maximizing its utility for the purposes of a mission such as that assigned to the _Enterprise_. All cultures have such diverse attitudes and rituals that it is impossible to accommodate them all."

"Minimizes insulting people? Maybe in form, but in content, this goes against every human _feeling_. And it's a huge insult to the dead. I'm not gonna use a guy's death to spout some bullshit about Starfleet, fuck that."

"Captain—"

"I've already tried using the script, okay? I hate it, I'm pretty sure the crew hates it, everyone hates it except you. So we're doing something else."

"Do you have a concrete plan for this 'something else,' captain." The answer is always:

"No. But I'll think of something."

--

"Lt. Thijs F.S. Pons. Or, as his friends called him, Ponsy.

"Ponsy was a great guy. He had the best lay up in all the Fleet. We played a couple rounds of one-on-one in the gym, and man—it was impossible to get anything around him. He played point guard for the Starfleet basketball team, and even got the team to the Final Four. They lost to the Corps by two points, but Ponsy never had any regrets about it. He always talked about it like it was the best day of his life—that's how he loved the game.

"He loved his job, too. Ponsy was a weapons specialist, focused on the latest ship phaser systems. When I ran that shitload of emergency situations way back in the beginning, Ponsy was the first one to notice that things were going down. He managed and controlled that situation with the same calm and ease he had on the court—absolutely focused, relaxed, but always aware of his surroundings. He was really an integral member of the weapons team, and he made them work like a team. I think the last time we had efficiency tests, Ponsy's team was something like 14% more efficient. That's a pretty ridiculous number.

"But really, nothing that I say can replace the person that he was. He was quiet, always willing to give a hand, a real down to earth kinda guy. You just wanted to hang out with him because he accepted you just the way you were. Everyone I've talked to, it sounds like he's touched their life is some way. And he was really thoughtful too, in small ways. Lt. Cenzana told me that he always visited her, every day, in the Sickbay, after she had an accident.

"This universe—I'm not gonna lie—sometimes it's just fucked up. I mean, Ponsy was 28 years old. He had everything going for him, and he's probably one of the best people I'll ever meet. We really lost something when we lost him. And sometimes this job sucks, because we can't take a break just to breath and let ourselves mourn. Starfleet sends us on a mission the next day, and they're not going to take any crap about failing a mission because your friend died a few days ago. We can't all be Vulcans like my First Officer here.

"I don't know if you believe in an afterlife, or a better place, or an indestructible human soul. I'm not even sure what I believe in, to be honest. Spock would probably tell me that humans have a propensity to seek for meaning after death, that it's all hard wired into our brains. But why shouldn't we? Why shouldn't we ask for death to have meaning? Ponsy's life had tons of meaning, and his death better damn well have just as much or this universe is way more fucked up than I thought.

"I don't really know where I'm going with this. But just—he'll be remembered by us. A memory's a horrible replacement for the real thing, but it's better than nothing. And we'll keep reaching out to the stars, and new people, and new planets. And every new creature we meet, ever star we see, it's like part of Ponsy—part of all those people who've died on these missions—is touching out too. It's an echo, a ripple that spreads out in space.

"That's really why we're here. We carry the memories of people who've passed, the memories of people we've seen, the images of the people we love. And maybe, maybe some sliver of them is passed on and survives in every new person we meet, every new friendship we make, every new species we discover. And _those_ are the voyages of the starship _Enterprise_."

--

The captain's part in the funeral services has been decreasing linearly. He has opted to give more control to those crewmembers who were closest to the deceased, so that they might give more personal eulogies or honor the dead in whichever manner they deem as appropriate. The captain attends every funeral, though he often has more pressing obligations that require his immediate consideration. His insistence on his presence is not without merit. Recovery rates among the crew are markedly improved if the captain is in some way involved with the mourning rites.

It is difficult to determine the psychological effect of these deaths on the captain. The medical records provided by Dr. McCoy show that he is always reluctant to reflect on the matter. The doctor conjectures that this unwillingness to discuss negative incidents is detrimental to the captain's emotional health. However, I consider his tendency to 'forget' such experiences and focus solely on the present a valid means by which to cope with the stresses of his office.

Terran psychological studies agree, however, that over a period of time, an individual exposed to such high levels of physical, mental, and emotional strain is guaranteed to suffer from maladies like post traumatic stress disorder.

--

"Jim?"

The captain was in the Sickbay at Dr. McCoy's bedside. He stared intently at the doctor.

"Jim, I—"

He shook his head, then motioned for me to come closer. I took my place by his side.

"This is the second time."

I waited for him to clarify his meaning.

"The second time I thought he was dead, but this time I was alone."

The disastrous shore leave. El Cazador.

The captain turned his blue eyes to me and looked at me intently. "The first time, I thought it was bad," he breathed in shakily. "But this was five hundred times worse.

"You know what I realized during those three days while I was searching for you and him?"

He fell silent.

"Remember with Karidian and all that Tarsus stuff? Bones said I wasn't alone. That you and him—you'd always be beside me. And I didn't believe it then, but that's what I realized.

"I never, _ever_ want to feel that again. Don't ever make me feel that again, that sick twisting fear and helplessness and fucking hopelessness. I'd go punch a hole through space-time and destroy a galaxy to get you back. There was some time—before all this—" he motioned to the _Enterprise_,"when I could face shit by myself. I didn't need anyone. You've taken that away from me.

"Spock."

His gaze returned to the prone form of Leonard McCoy.

"Spock, promise me—"

His frowned, his gaze on some point in the interior space of his mind.

"Promise me."

_whither thou goest, I will go_

He looked at me.

_and where thou lodgest, I will lodge_

"Promise me. Spock?"

_thy people shall be my people_

I returned his gaze.

_and thy God my God_

_where thou diest, will I die__, __and there will I be buried_

"I am here, captain."


	64. Ch 64

"This universe is different in ways we had not anticipated. Ask, and we shall answer."

--

"All clear ahead, keptan."

"Forward readings, Spock?"

"Gravimetric readings show no significant change, zero space density."

"Great. Punch it at warp 3, Sulu. Colony Beta-6 just called, Uhura?"

"Yes, sir. They urgently need the supplies. What should I tell them for ETA, captain?"

"Tell 'em we'll be there at 1850. Right?" Jim looked over his shoulder at me.

I nodded in confirmation. Nyota turned back to her station to communicate with the colony government.

Dr. McCoy entered the bridge, walking with a slight limp.

"Oh, hey Bones. How's PT going?"

"Damned Chapel's got me sore on muscles that shouldn't even exist," McCoy grumbled. "Where're we headed?"

"Just flying through the void, right now."

"Don't remind me, Jim. I might throw up. I'd hang a man for some nice sunny beach."

The captain laughed. "Sunlight, palm trees, some surfing? We're 900 lightyears away from anything remotely like that, Bones."

"The precise definition of a 'beach' is 'that part of the shore lying between high- and low-water-marks.' I fail to understand your romantic nostalgia for such a place."

"Doesn't surprise me, Spock. I can't imagine anything ever disturbing those mathematically perfect brainwaves of yours," he scowled.

I raised one eyebrow. Jim remained silent, a smile of amusement on his face.

"Thank you, Dr. McCoy. It is good to see that you are making a steady recovery."

McCoy comprehended my meaning. "And it's not surprising that you're still the same lizard blooded pointy eared walking talking robot," he returned.

Jim was extremely entertained. I walked to Lt. Chekov's terminal.

"Moving on schedule to Quadrant 904 Theta-4."

"Wait, Mr. Spock," Lt. Chekov pointed to a signal emerging on the forward sensor readings.

"What? There's something?" the captain asked, immediately alert.

"Unusual, captain. We are now getting a sizeable space displacement reading."

"Interference emerging on subspace radio, captain," Nyota said from her station.

Jim leaned forward in his command chair. "Can you verify, Chekov?"

"Yes, sir. Forward sweeps were negative, but then appeared—I am not knowing what this is, keptan. It must be at light warp or we would have seen it earlier, in initial scans. But it is strange, very strange readings."

"Give me a visual."

"Iron, silicon body. Planet size magnitude 1E. Most certainly not Class M, Jim. We will be passing close."

"Sulu, avoid smashing into that thing. Chekov, replot course after Sulu does some evasive maneuvering."

"You got it, captain."

"Don't tell me," the captain said looking at me. "There aren't any records of it anywhere."

"Affirmative. However, a body of this size, mass, and unusual characteristics—it is inconceivable that it has gone unnoticed in all the records."

"And yet, here it is. We don't have time to investigate. Get your scientists to gather as much data as they can for our computers. Uhura, how's the interference?"

"Not good, sir, getting stronger. I've already tried to send several transmissions to notify Starfleet of the discovery of this planet, but nothing's getting through. The source has to be the planet."

"Sulu, are we out of range?"

"Uh, captain? The planet is following us? I'm executing every combo that I know, and it's still right there."

"Put everyone on yellow alert. Sulu, why don't we try backtracking."

"Putting everything in reverse, sir." Lt. Sulu manipulated his controls and reached to enter the sequence when he disappeared from the bridge.

"Sulu!"

Jim ran to Sulu's station. He then promptly vanished. I swiftly went to the captain's chair.

"Lt. Uhura, red alert. As this planet clearly wishes to keep us in its orbit, we will not attempt escape. Ship wide, please, Nyota."

"Already done, Spock."

"Commander Spock speaking. The captain and Lt. Sulu have been removed by unknown means to an unknown location from the bridge. Science Department, employ high definition scans on the planet to locate the whereabouts of Captain Kirk and Lt. Sulu. All personnel will notify the command crew immediately if any individual is missing. This is a Class Four situation, conduct yourselves accordingly. Lt. Giotto, a search and rescue team is in order. Mr. Scott to the bridge please. Spock out."

--

"Ship's log, stardate 2124.5 First Officer Spock reporting for Captain James Kirk. We are orbiting a previously unnoted planet in the 906 quadrant. For four hours, we have made every instrument sweep, but Captain Kirk and Lt. Sulu remain unaccounted for. I have placed the ship on red alert."

"We've searched again from stem to stern. If they're not down on that planet, they're nowhere."

"I am agreeing with Scotty, sir. There are no signs of life on the planet below, but probability is indicating that disappearances are related to planet. _Hotya_, the environment below—_prosto uzhas_!"

"Why, what's wrong with that rock down there, other than the small fact that the goddamn thing was _following_ us?"

"Dr. Jaeger, please repeat your findings."

"Yes, sir. There's no detectable soil or vegetation, obviously, since it's an extremely hot, toxic atmosphere. Readings indicate that there are frequent acid storms that sweep through. We have continuous volcanic eruptions, making this planet totally unsuitable for life as we know it. Even our best life support systems would melt in that heat."

"I'm getting too damn old for this sort of thing," Dr. McCoy groaned. "Whenever you put decide to send down a search party, put me on the list."

"With your injury, it is not advisable that you beam down to the planet. The search may be long and exhausting, thereby overtaxing your system and damaging your natural course of recovery."

"Spock, my natural course of recovery would've been a coffin not thirty years ago. Just let me go down there."

I sighed internally. "Very well. Request granted, doctor."

"Thanks." He briefly clasped my shoulder with his hand. "I'll get out of your way and get myself prepped in Sickbay."

"Wait. Everyone, I think you should see this." Nyota put a message up on the viewscreen.

There appeared a string of words: How are you gentlemen _!!_

"Is this some lad's idea of a joke?"

Then: All your base are belong to us.

"Send this, Lt. Uhura. U.S.S. _Enterprise_ to signaler on planet surface. Identify self."

"'You haf no chance to survive make your time.' What is that meaning, Mr. Spock? 'Ha ha ha ha... Tallyho!'?"

"What in the name of Christ—?"

"I'll entertain any theories, gentlemen, any at all."

"Well, there's got to be life down there!"

"Not necessarily, Mr. Scott. The message may be automatically generated by some device, or it may somehow originate from the planet itself."

"But where there's a signal, there's some sort of sentience of civilization that built it. Request permission to go down there and investigate, Mr. Spock."

Sending two of the most senior officers of the _Enterprise_ down to a hostile planet surface would not, in most cases, be considered a wise decision. However, I considered the experience and expertise of both Dr. McCoy and Engineer Scott as well as their emotional needs. They wanted to do this out of loyalty to Jim. Montgomery Scott is not one to capriciously volunteer for such missions.

"Sir, there is appearing on sensors a small area, conditions wery different from planet. It is almost Earthlike."

"What're your coordinates, Chekov? I've locked onto the source of the signals—are they the same?"

Lt. Chekov ran to Nyota's computer. "_Da_! _Da da_, it is matching!"

"Request granted, Mr. Scott. Lt. Giotto, send your rescue team to the transporter room for beam down to the planet. All landing party members are to be equipped with emergency life support systems and the new communicator models. Lt. Chekov, see to their transport personally and monitor their signals closely. We will beam them up at any sign of change in that region."

_Make your time Make your time Make your time_ flashed on the view screen.

"Dismissed."

--

"Are the new communicators functional, Lt. Uhura?"

"Somewhat. I'm not able to make out what they're transmitting, but we can keep track of their coordinates. I'm trying to reduce the signal/noise ratio, and I think I can pick up on some of the notes they're transmitting up."

"Put it on the view screen as a continuous feed. Lt. Chekov, are there any other anomalous signs?"

"No, sir. But area seems to be dark—like whole thing is under artificial darkness. I am not knowing of such a thing existing in the universe. The physics must be wery interesting to look at."

"Undoubtedly the case. However, continue to monitor the area and probe for life forms."

"Aye sir."

"Lt. Uhura, I have assigned Dr. Fordheim to assist you in reducing the subspace interference noise. Dr. Balenchine will help in the decoding process."

"Understood, sir."

-successf-beam-eems like-ndon'd-get that, M-Sp-k?-can't-signa-l-l-l-arehow-dark-unusua-a-vestigas-sh-will-try-comm-t'out-

-amn thing doesn-ork-Spock!-can-ou-hear?-dam-t-no-sign-n-z-t-xxx-jimsulu-night?-g-ahead-seems to be-uge-ssss-get that?-build-ng-hea-old-Coyout-

"Spock to Engineering Department."

"Yeoman Mahlaleel here, sir."

"Please notify Engineer Mingshen to report to the bridge immediately. His skills are required."

"I'll do that right away, sir."

-dunno-work?-nyways-kkr-capt-tenant-ss-ss-ss-trpp-repeat, Captain Kirk an-ff-nn-duh-duh-tricor-inconclusiv-z-

"Nyota. Analysis."

"I think the captain and Sulu are down there. Everyone seems to agree that it's really dark and there's some sort of building, and its proportions are huge. But wouldn't something like that show up in a scan?"

"It would. However, it may have materialized at that moment. Lt. Chekov?"

"We are scanning, sir, and confirm large unnatural structure. It is like it came out of the ground."

"What are your hypotheses as to the intelligence guiding these processes?"

"I have no idea. Matter-energy manipulation? Some sort of being with unheard of power and technology?"

"Indications of a power source at that location, Mr. Chekov?"

"Negative. I am thinking this is something we are never hafing seen before. Either technology is far beyond our detection—I think this is unlikely—or there is powerful life form."

At the moment the lieutenant finished his statement, a being appeared, floating, in the middle of the bridge. His skin was olive and he has long green hair that flowed upwards. By all appearances, he was humanoid, but he had a robotic part covering the right side of his face. Both eyes were red. The creature was dressed in an elaborate uniform, meant to signify membership in some armed service, and over that he wore an enormous purple robe.

Everyone on the bridge gaped.

"Oh wonderful! Wonderful! Why, I don't believe I've met you—you weren't here the last time," he said, looking at Lt. Chekov. "You all figured it out so much faster than the others! How delightful!"

With those words, the being transformed instantly into a Terran-like man, dressed in archaic blue officer robes, like those worn in the pre-Warp era European militaries.

"Well, of course you don't remember me, how could you? I'm General Trelane, retired. I used to call myself a squire, but that goes according to the English, not the French tradition, I think. One must be consistent," he chortled. "I'm so happy to see you again! I didn't know if you would be here in this universe."

Trelane looked at me. "Oh. You're here too. I suppose you must be lurking near, if James Kirk is in the area. What did they call you then?" he pretended to ponder. "Ah yes, Kirk's shadow."

"What have you done with Captain Kirk and Lt. Sulu. Where are Leonard McCoy and Montgomery Scott, and the security team dispatched," I demanded.

"Patience, Mr. Spock. You always were very ill mannered. Now, I won't make the same mistake I did last time and let you all get away. I'm going to do this properly—"

The _Enterprise_ vanished and was replaced with a great gilded hall lined with mirrors. The whole of the bridge command team found themselves in this hall, dressed in old and extremely restrictive Terran apparel. I found myself similarly attired in a garish suit covered in ruffles and lace.

"I did so much more research and didn't make those silly errors like I had with the other James Kirk. Earth men are so very interesting, I must say you are still my favorite species. I've studied it all—the whole gamut of your history, but there's no age I like better than under Louis XIV! The Sun King! Such power! Regality! That court of his, Versailles, it's marvelous! Oh, it was a golden age in France. We shall all dance and drink and be merry.

"You will find the food a distinct improvement from before. I've imitated the molecular structure exactly, so it ought to taste like it really is. My matter manipulations has vastly improved—I don't even need to use my machine anymore!

"Oh, but silly me, where are my manners. You _are_ the _Enterprise_ crew, you've never known any other reality. No matter, no matter. Festivities are in order!"

He clapped his hands and a passageway appeared, leading to a spacious and lavishly decorated room. Everything was gilded and glittering.

"I haven't lost my taste for a good show, the theater, the theater! Moliere and the follies! And I still love the sound of the harpsichord. Let's having a round of dancing, shall we?"

Trelane extravagantly waved his arms and a courtly waltz sounded through the room. No one danced.

"Oh, why aren't you dancing?!" Trelane whined.

"Where is James T. Kirk."

"I assure you, Mr. Spock, they are quite safe. I haven't done anything to them at all," he smiled. "But I suppose you want them back."

The missing men materialized before us. It is a credit to the crew's training that they immediately were wary and looked around for any signs of danger, and then began to assess their surroundings and take tricorder readings.

The crew instinctively gathered near the captain and faced Trelane.

"Spock?" the captain rubbed his eyes. "This has gotta be the weirdest dream I've ever had. Why are you dressed like that?"

"It is no dream, captain. You are similarly garbed."

The captain looked down at the overwhelming number of frills, tassels, and medals covering his outer coat.

"Sulu, pinch me." Jim yelped, then rubbed his arm. "Yup, definitely a nightmare."

"If only I had kept the specimens from the other universe, it would have made such a fine collection! Why captain—" Trelane exclaimed. "Your eyes are blue! I distinctly remember their color as gold."

"Uh... sure?" Jim frowned. He briefly glanced behind him, as if he were doing a headcount. "Who are you? Why've you brought us here? Where's my ship?"

"Remarkable! Such differences between you and your other self, even physiological. And among the crew! I could never have predicted it. But even there, some things never change," Trelane chuckled. "You are a bit rough around the edges—the other Kirk had some more manners, but you are the same at heart. As is, I'm afraid, your ill-bred First Officer there."

Jim processed all the information silently, his eyes blazing. They gave no insight as to his thoughts.

"That doesn't answer any of my questions."

"As I said to your alternate self," Trelane continued obliviously, "my greetings and felicitations," he bowed deeply. "You may call me General Trelane, retired. The first time I encountered you and your crew, Captain Kirk, was when I was making a study of Earth and its culture. You happened to come right in my path when I had finished putting all the detail into my new playroom.

"I didn't know it then, but it was such an ideal opportunity for study. I had a script in mind before, you see. I thought we would all sit down and have a rousing talk about recent campaigns against the Spanish and the Holy Roman Empire, talk of the wholesale destruction of the Aztec and Mayan Empires. Or perhaps fighting the infidels of the Islamic Empire. But you would have none of it, and gave me something so much better and entertaining instead!

"And now, it is most fortuitous that we should meet again! My understanding of humans has improved by leaps and bounds, if I do say so myself. I brought your whole crew here, since the last time you could think of nothing but their safety. But as you can see, I've managed to create the Hall of Mirrors and one of the delightful chambers of Versailles. Have you ever seen such delicate gold leaf? I still haven't been able to replicate the marvelous grounds around the palace, but in time, all in time.

"Do you like it, captain? I do think it's much improved. I thought I would try another route this time, using that delightful phrase 'all your base are belong to us.' From a completely different period of Earth's history, I know, but quite entertaining! Captain, won't you dine with us? Do stay, I did so love your company the last time, though it was interrupted by your rather unfortunate First Officer. I had hoped that this universe find you without him, but c'est la vie, as they say. My home, is your home."

The captain said nothing in return, eyes narrowed at Trelane. He seemed to reach the internal conclusion that nothing he said would matter to the madman Trelane, and so turned his attention to those gathered around him.

He looked pointedly at me, as if to ask why I was not at his side. I adjusted my position accordingly. The other crewmembers stepped forward, closing the gaps in the circle. Satisfied, the captain looked at Mr. Scott, a question in his eyes. The Chief Engineer shook his head.

"No way out, sir, except to get a signal and transport out. If our Silver Lady is still up there, that is."

"Bones?"

"He's not human, that's for sure."

"Specify."

"He doesn't even show up in tricorder readings as alive. It's like he's matter-energy salad, just there, blabbering on about stuffed fool's gold French palaces."

"How're you feeling?"

"Not bad, Jim. I've been better, and I've been worse. It'll be good to get back to the ship, and I can't believe I'm sayin' that."

The captain smiled.

"Sulu?"

"I'm okay. Dr. McCoy checked me out already, nothing's broken." Lt. Sulu tugged at the lace bunched at his throat. "What's up with this guy? Why all this ridiculous gold?"

Jim made a gesture to indicate that he considered Trelane to be mentally unstable. Light laughter rippled through the group and the tension eased slightly. Jim turned his attention to the security team.

"And you guys?"

"There're no exits for leaving his building, sir. We checked the doors and windows, and they're all fakes. They show an exterior, but it's like painting. We're sealed in, completely trapped here. There's no security threat yet, but—"

"How wonderful! Plotting again, I see. Well, I shall be eager to see what you cook up this time, captain," Trelane said, clearly unworried. "I will warn you that I have the absolute advantage in this game now. I've made the rules that way. You won't be able to win like you did the last time."

A harpsichord materialized and he began to play a grating repetitive tune. Everyone tensed again as they stared at Trelane's juvenile antics.

"Ignore him. Focus on me. You know I don't believe in no-win situations. So continue, Lt. Condor."

The crew's posture relaxed once more as the captain radiated confidence and authority, like the steady light of a galaxy.

"Like I was sayin', we have no idea where another threat might come. This Trelane, he seems unstable and very powerful, sir. We're all watching your back."

"Thanks. Make sure you watch each others' too, not just mine."

"Yup, we've got it covered, cap'n."

"Great. Chekov?"

"Definitely energy manipulator, like our transporter technologies, only wery wery stronger. He is hafing capability to just put atoms together and split them, or ewen at subatomic lewel, keptan. And this complexity and detail, I am _nikogda ranshe_ seeing."

Jim looked at Nyota.

"He might be all powerful, but he's not all knowing."

"He's made mistakes."

"Yes. And he'll probably make mistakes again. He keeps alluding to an alternate reality where he's met us before, and always comments on how things are different between the two of them. Clearly, he expects similar behavior. That can be useful to us in forcing him to make a miscalculation and giving us some sort of opening to get back to the ship."

"Woah. Good point. Did you take a tactical analysis class?"

"No. I just picked up some tricks from watching you and Spock."

"Nice. Any other recommendations?"

"Be yourself. That is, be unpredictable. If we keep him off balance there, we might find some other weakness."

"I can do that. Spock?"

"Our prospects look bleak, captain. Though Trelane is fallible, that still does not provide us a means by which we may communicate with the ship and transport from this planet. I suggest that we have several teams, each with an objective. Those objectives include gathering data on this previously unknown life form, doing extensive analysis of our surroundings, and finding some way to get back to the _Enterprise_."

"Maybe. Just out of curiosity, has anyone tried to shoot him with a phaser? Would it do any kind of damage, if he's just a blob of discombobulated matter and energy?"

"Negative, captain. I would not advise it. Trelane's moods are childish and very changeable."

"You never know until you try."

"I'll do it, sir," Lt. Friedlander volunteered.

"Put it on stun. And do it subtly, if you can. I don't want you to get killed because of this."

"Understood, sir."

The last traces of the crew's nervousness ebbed away. It was as though they took solace in Jim's commands, and remembered the collective experience of their service on the _Enterprise_. He had never failed them, and he would not do so here. There are times when Jim has been defeated. But he has never been beaten.

He had the crew's full attention and trust.

The captain looked critically at Trelane, who was happily tapping away some trifling melody.

"I don't get it."

Jim radiated feeling, like soft golden light. _This is how it's supposed to be, all of us, together. This is how it was. We finally got here. Built and fought and worked and earned. I won't let anyone take that away from me. But—_

"What does he want from us? Why'd he bring us here? For that game of his, whatever it is? Does he want us to just stick around in this gilded cage forever, so that he can play with us whenever he feels like it? Or is this some sort of giant experiment—is he taking measurements and comparing us to our alternate selves? And if he can jump between universes..." Jim did not finish his sentence.

He glanced at me. Uncertainty flickered through his eyes. _This is how it's supposed to be. You by my side. Has been and always will be. Order from chaos, reason in madness._

I nodded. The uncertainty vanished and the blazing light of his confidence reappeared.

"His objective is unclear, captain. It does seem that he views us as mere objects for his amusement rather than individuals with free will."

"He's a kid," Dr. McCoy said. "And a smart one, with too much time and power on his hands, and no sense of responsibility. With this kind of power? Do you realize how many people you could help? How must needless suffering would be reduced?"

"Perhaps he is not helping people because he has never suffered," Lt. Chekov said quietly. "If he is energy form, he is not liwing, not dying. There is no sorrow and no singing. This hall—I am knowing my Earth history, and Louis could haf used money and power for other things, but he is building a giant gold palace instead. It is serwing political purpose, _da_, and he is being remembered for it. But to me, it is empty gilded hall, _gd'ye nyet lyubvi_."

"Don't worry about it, captain," Lt. Sulu said. "We'll find a way out. We're alive, breathing. You're here, we're all here. There's nothin' in the 'verse that can stop us."


	65. Ch 65

"What an interesting weapon you've got there. Do let me see it. Is it the same one as that Mr. DeSalle had?" Trelane examined the phaser. "Yes, now let me see. It works on the same basic principle? And even the settings are the same—one for 'stun,' and one for 'kill.' Oh, let me try here." He discharged the weapon and a vase disappeared. "Oh how marvelous! You've made some changes on the design. But still devastating! Why this could kill billions!"

"It could," Jim replied, his voice hard. "So who's it gonna be? Are we your next targets."

"How curious! Your reactions are exactly the same—you don't understand something, so you become fearful. And so interesting. Your counterpart thought of his crew before he did himself, you know, and you are the same!"

--

"Dear captain, I find these inquiries tiresome. Now let's have some music and dancing, free yourself from care. I want you to be happy, let's enjoy ourselves."

"Get me back to my ship."

"Why does it always go back to your ship? It is so very annoying, and you're being quite rude. Apparently, I'll have to teach you the same lesson I taught your counterpart and give you a demonstration of my power."

The captain disappeared for six seconds, then reappeared, on his knees and gasping for air.

"That's a sample of the atmosphere outside my kindly influence. Now, you will behave yourself hereafter, won't you? Or I shall be very, very angry."

The captain looked murderous.

"Such primal anger and ferocity. Would that I could generate that feeling! But do not fear captain, I shant punish you. You're too entertaining for me to spoil. And I have learned something very useful since our last meeting. So intriguing, that this idea had such power among humans."

"And what, exactly, is that idea?" Dr. McCoy ground out.

"The simple principle is this. If you want to punish someone truly, you never do it to them."

"What—?"

"You punish the ones they love most. No, I have no qualms about it. Besides, I never did like him, even in the other universe."

I found myself outside the palace, fully exposed to the toxic acid atmosphere. My interval was extended to twenty, rather than six, seconds. I did not breathe. I closed my eyes. My inner eyelid provided additional protection to my eyes, and I chose to protect my psi points with my hands, but nothing protected my hands and neck from the ravages of the atmosphere. The exposure was excruciatingly painful.

I was not aware that I had been restored to the safety of our golden cage until several seconds passed and I struggled to suppress the burning agony in my hands. This should have been a simple task. It was not so.

Dr. McCoy ran tricorder readings. His brows were deeply furrowed.

"Are you going to be okay there, Spock?"

"I am suppressing all sensation." My voice was cold.

"Bones, can you do anything?"

He shook his head. "It's nerve damage, Jim. Apparently, the atmosphere out there is deadly to us, but it's even worse for him. It's like the Vulcan version of VX nerve agent. If he were out there a little longer—goddamnit!"

My hands began to shake uncontrollably, then my arms, torso, along my spine. I reached for control, to relax my muscles and rein in my nervous system. It was like pressing a broken switch—there was no response. My vision became unclear and inconsistent. Everything sounded so very far away. Trelane's voice echoed as he spoke. The panicked voices of Dr. McCoy, Nyota, and all others faded.

"Oh, how interesting. I had not thought to expose that vexing half breed to the atmosphere in the other timeline. How absolutely fascinating! And now I can't let you go. What an interesting study this will be! I was getting a bit bored until you came, and you have already presented me this most wonderful diversion. Perhaps I will learn some new emotions now—grief seems to be very popular among humans. I've already felt murderous anger, thanks to your counterpart. Yes, you must stay, captain. I insist."

Stay or go Stay or go

I can't breathe.

--

Endless grey, soft and suffocating. Blurred and yellowing images of another dimension.

_I don't know if I like your tone. It's most challenging. Is that what you're doing, challenging me?_

_I object to you. I object to intellect without discipline; I object to power without constructive purpose._

--

_Don't fret captain. I'm only a bit upset with you.__ But this Mr. Spock you mentioned, the one responsible for that unseemly impudent act of taking you from me. Which is he?_

_I am Spock._

_Oh, surely__not an officer. He isn't quite human is he?_

_My father is from the planet Vulcan._

_And are its species predatory?_

_Not generally. But there have been exceptions._

_You will se__e__ to his punishment?_

_On the contrary, I will commend his actions._

_But _I_ don't like him._

_Get off my ship._

Make your time Make your time Make your time

--

Return, S'chn T'gai Spock. There is a place both found and created, to which you must return. Found, lost, created, destroyed, sacrificed, wasted, earned, cherished, despised—reborn in every universe, in every time.

There are those who wait for you. Leave this grey uncertainty and stand in the light. Return, and take your place.

--

I woke to the sight of large green amorphous objects pulsating in the middle of the gilded room. Nyota was holding my hand.

"We have restored your Science Officer to you, captain. All damage suffered has been removed."

Something was supporting my head and neck. I looked around and saw varying degrees of concern and relief in the eyes of those around me: Engineer Scott, Lt. Chekov, Lt. Sulu, Lt. Friedlander, Ensign Lao, Ensign Gbadamosi. Dr. McCoy—

"Jim, let him go. Spock, can you stand up and for me and tell me if everything's working right?"

I did as the doctor requested. He took tricorder readings, then nodded to Jim.

"Captain, we regret that life paths of yourself and your companions have been disturbed once more. S'chn T'gai Spock, we are sorry for the grief you have suffered by our son's deeds."

"You must forgive our child. The fault is ours for indulging him too much. He will be punished."

"We would not have allowed him to intercept you once more had we realized his intent and this grudge he seems to bear towards your First Officer."

"Forgive us, captain. Please accept our apologies."

The captain stood, tired. "S'okay. I guess I probably raised that much hell when I was a kid too."

"In memory and honor of your alternate self, as well as your own merciful dealings towards our child, we will grant one request—anything that is in our power to give. Ask, and it shall be given."

"What about the others?"

"We will grant you one request, James Tiberius Kirk. You have been and always will be their captain—you will speak for them."

The captain's expression was troubled. His eyes searched mine, the thoughts behind them incomprehensible. He then looked at the face of every member present as though he were studying a precious thing. His gaze went from Leonard McCoy, to Engineer Scott, to Nyota, to Lt. Chekov, Lt. Sulu, and then the security personnel. It came back to me and his blue eyes glowed, gold light behind them. He turned back to the beings.

"I think I'm gonna ask a question. A really selfish question."

The beings seemed taken aback, if one can distinguish such a thing by their hue and the rate at which they pulsated.

"This universe is quite different, in ways we had not anticipated. Ask, and we shall answer."

"Were we happy?"

McCoy frowned, obviously confused by Jim's inquiry. The expressions on the faces of the other crewmembers spoke of similar puzzlement.

The beings answered without hesitation.

"No. In many respects, throughout your life, you sacrificed much and gained little in return. Even when you brought your crew together—this crew—to journey to the Mutara sector to cheat death and bring him back to your side, it was not the same. The years spent aboard the _Enterprise_ were your best, and the bonds created there could not be surpassed. However, you never regretted the path you chose or the decisions made. At the time of your death, you were satisfied."

Jim said nothing.

For a long moment, the beings were silent, as though they were conferring with each other.

"We shall also give you one thing, a thing unasked for. As long as you live, James Tiberius Kirk, no member of our Continuum will interfere or aid you as you journey through this galaxy."

"We are grateful to you," the other said, its voice echoing. "Much is changed, much is different, but some things remain constant. May you find happiness in your voyage, James Tiberius Kirk."


	66. Ch 66

No one will inform me of the events that transpired after I was exposed to the debilitating nerve agent. Even Nyota.

"Can we not talk about it, Spock? It was hellish. I just got done talking about it with M'Benga for my psychological evaluations. Please don't make me repeat it."

"If it is your wish."

She nodded. "Thanks." There was a pause. "I have this new piece we could try, it's called 'Summertime.' And old pre-Warp E song. Here's the parts for the vocals, and I thought maybe you could make an arrangement for accompaniment."

I perused the music, quickly synthesizing its various harmonies and melodies. "I have a sketch of an accompaniment. Would you like to try right now?"

Nyota's eyes glistened. "Yes. Yes I'd like that very much."

She reached towards me. I met her halfway and embraced her as she began to cry.

After an interval, she laughed shakily and blew her nose.

I looked at her.

"I'm okay. Just kind of," she blew her nose. "Let me clean up? And we'll sing. It's a beautiful song."

--

"Lt. Chekov, Lt. Sulu. If I may speak with you."

"Um, sure, commander."

"Would you kindly inform me of the events that occurred while I was unconscious on planet Gothos? The captain has not made a formal note of it, nor has any other crewman who was on the planet."

Lt. Sulu straightened until he was at attention. Lt. Chekov shifted on his feet.

"We cannot, sir. With all due respect," Lt. Chekov said.

"What is the justification for this veil of secrecy?"

"It's not a secret, Commander Spock. Just—we all agreed not to talk about it, is all."

"If is appallingly offensive to my sensibilities, I would still like to know—"

"It's not that, sir."

"Then what is 'it,' lieutenants?"

They simply looked at each other and then looked back at me.

I moved to leave. As I passed, Lt. Chekov very quietly whispered "_Ya ob odnom mol'yu, taskuya: O bud' so mnoi—nye uhodi._"

--

When I entered the Sickbay, the doctor was sitting at his terminal with his back turned to me. He was listening to a puzzling song, whose lyrics I did not understand.

_Amarillo __B__y __M__ornin'__, u__p from San Antone  
Everything that I got__ i__s just what I've got on.  
When that sun is high in that Texas sky,  
I'll be buckin' at the county fair.  
Amarillo __B__y __M__ornin'__, A__marillo I'll be there._

_They took my saddle in Houston,__ b__roke my leg in Santa Fe.  
Lost my wife and a girlfriend,__ s__omewhere along the way.  
I'll be lookin' for eight__ w__hen they pull that gate  
And I hope that judge ain't blind.  
Amarillo __B__y __M__ornin'__, __Amarillo's on my mind._

_Amarillo By Mornin'__, u__p from San Antone  
Everything that I got__ i__s just what I've got on.  
I ain't got a dime,__ b__ut what I got is mine.  
I ain't rich, but Lord I'm free.  
Amarillo By Mornin'__, __Amarillo's __w__here I'll __b__e._

"I know you're there, Spock. Why don't you come on in and have a seat."

"If I am interrupting—"

"Nope. Is anything wrong? Feeling okay? Everything works fine?"

"Affirmative, doctor. However, there is—"

"I know what you want to know." He poured himself a glass of brandy. "You know what that song is about?"

I shook my head.

"It's about a cowboy ridin' the rodeo circuit. Damn well loses everything doin' it too—it's a vicious sport. But he just keeps ridin' rodeo. Amarillo By Mornin's the bull."

"Leonard, what relevance does an old Terran cowboy song have to do with my predicament on the planet Gothos? This barrier of silence that I find consistently is illogical."

"Nope, not illogical. I'm not going ta tell ya either, it's not my place to tell. But you'll see soon enough. Make use of all those keen observations of yours.

"I will tell you this. It was ugly, what that atmosphere did to your body. Raised pure hell on your nervous system. Jim kind of snapped—I don't blame him, what with the whole debacle with that insane hunter and almost losin' us both. He's human, not like those indifferent energy things we met. The crew—all of us—we pulled through for him and we're pickin' up the pieces. But there's a limit to that man."

The doctor drained his glass. He paused before he poured himself another.

"Ya know, I don't think Jim got the answer he wanted when he asked those blobs his question. Not completely.

"That cowboy—a man can't ride rodeo forever. He's free, but someday he's gonna need a reason to keep going. I keep wonderin' if he ever found it."

--

I entered the captain's quarters. He was staring at his computer screen blankly.

"Captain? You requested my presence?"

Jim looked up.

"Yeah. You said you finished the briefs for our next mission. Is there anything special I need to know about? I looked over some of the files Starfleet sent me, but nothing looks completely out of the ordinary."

"I have found nothing anomalous as well."

"Okay. Good." He turned his attention back to the computer, the glow of the screen accenting the curves and angles of his face. "I was just reading some stuff on the nets. Did you know that Vulcan II's scheduled to build another city? It says here that the core community has stabilized, and now they're ready to expand."

"My father informed me of this development recently on subspace radio."

Jim smiled to himself. "It's great. I'm really happy for you guys."

"The event is," I paused. "Encouraging. That we may rebuild and continue after such loss."

I considered my projected timetable for the upcoming three shifts and decided that it could be rearranged.

"Jim, would you be interested in a game of chess?"

He looked at his stack of datapads.

"I will assist you in those duties if necessary." My schedule would require generous rearrangement.

"Yeah, I'm up for a game," he nodded. "The usual? Me white, you black?"

"Affirmative."

In the middle of the game, Jim looked up from the chess board and suddenly declared, "Space is a miracle."

A random statement with absolutely no relevance to the game. I raised my eyebrow to convey that thought. It had its intended effect. Jim's face lit up with a wide smile and he began laughing. And for that moment, I simply basked in the glow of his happiness.


	67. Ch 67

Jim held up a phaser in his hand. He stood at the front of a large aerobics room, dressed in a gi, the traditional East Asian apparel in which one practices martial arts. I was not aware that the captain possessed such a garment. His belt denoted a rank of third degree.

"Starfleet, in their infinite wisdom, figured that if they give these theoretically functional, superpowerful weapons to their officers, no one would need to learn how to actually defend themselves," he twirled the weapon in his hands and then held it up again. "They got it wrong for two reasons. First, I swear, the only things that fail more than these phasers on missions are the communicators. Second, this thing gives you only two choices—stun and kill. You might come into situations where you, I dunno, actually want to interrogate the guy. Find out _why_ he's attacking you when Starfleet's notes say that the species is nonviolent. Kind of hard to do if he's dead or can't move. Unless you're Spock, of course."

Quiet laughter followed. I looked at Jim and raised my eyebrow. He smiled and gave a small shrug.

"So. Self defense. I'm looking around right now, and some of you should be in one of the upper levels that Giotto runs. But whatever, it's always good to practice more. That's the name of the game—I can teach you all these moves, but it's all completely useless unless you practice and can just," Jim suddenly reached out to a security officer and in a fluid motion slammed him to the ground, "do it. In your sleep," he helped Lt. Gonzalez back to his feet.

"There're a couple of things to go over before we start. You guys all know that you need to be alert and aware of your surroundings. I _know_ I drilled that into your heads, but it's especially important in a fight situation. Your attacker might come out of anywhere, from behind a rock, playing hide and seek in a lithium cracking station, whatever. Surprise is one of the biggest advantages you can have, or that you can give to your attacker. So always always _always_ pay attention to where you are, potential escape routes, and places to avoid. You don't want to fall into a pit of quicksand after managing to get away.

"Another thing. Clothes. We don't really have a choice about the uniforms, they are what they are. But I would suggest to you guys out there to wear pants maybe a size or two larger than you usually would. Get a good belt to hold everything up, though. Clothes should be loose to allow for movement. You don't want to rip a hole right at your crotch while you're kicking some alien. And yeah, it's happened."

"To you, capt'n?"

"Yeah, to me. And some of the security guys," Jim laughed. "I think the shirts are flexible and good, but ideally, pants would be like these," he motioned to his gi. "Ladies—I know that Starfleet issues those ridiculous skirts as part of the uniform. Get rid of them."

The males of the room cheered. The expression on the face of the females ranged from annoyance to amusement to agreement.

"They're sexy as hell, and they prevent you from defending yourself or even being able to run. I've noticed that we do a lot of running on missions. You don't want anything to get in the way of breaking into an all out spring when some rabid animal decides you look like a great afternoon snack.

"Uhura, are you here?"

Nyota raised her hand in reply.

"Lt. Uhura here's been wearing pants since what mission?"

"It's been about six months since I made the switch. The Vodstva of Topluma trying to stick his hand up my skirt was the last straw."

"What? When the hell did this happen? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. I stole a few pairs of Spock's trousers."

Everyone turned and looked at me. I returned their looks evenly, slightly annoyed that the question of my missing clothing was resolved in this fashion. Ndugu or no, she should have asked before helping herself to my uniforms.

"Okay. If you need pants for your uniform, go to Spock. Raid his closet or something."

I refused to give Jim the satisfaction of seeing me exasperated.

"No seriously though, Spock'll take care of the administrative stuff if you want or need a change of uniform. See him after this session is over. Also—boots. Don't go for the high heeled ones. Boring standard issue boots are the way to go.

"Anyway, the third really big thing is actually about fighting and shit. This is just a beginner course so we won't be getting to this for a while, but when you get more advanced, you can personalize your fighting style. Not all fighting styles are the same. Different ones were developed with various objectives in mind, and they all have really different techniques.

"For example, this black belt I have is actually for hapkido. It's mostly a system for self defense, and it's almost like a combination of the judo and taekwondo. That probably doesn't mean a lot to you right now, but it will. Some of the security guys on the crew hold advanced belts or are really good at karate, jujitsu, tai chi, judo, aikido, good old fashioned wrestling, just to name a few. I've also done a lot of boxing—all of these styles emphasize totally different things.

"Well, talking about it constantly isn't really going to do much for ya. I guess we'll just show you guys. Spock, you wanna come up here?"

I did not expect Jim to ask me to engage in a demonstration. Nevertheless, I joined him at the front.

"Okay, I'm going to try and attack, and Spock's gonna defend. Then we'll switch. Try and see the differences between the way we take—or try to take—each other down. Spock—no nerve pinches."

"Understood—"

I did not finish my reply, as Jim had already begun his attack. He swung out his leg to sweep my left leg off balance. His kicking foot landed in my instep and he grabbed me, ostensibly to employ a hold and overpower me or disable me with a jujitsu throw. I immediately reacted by blocking outward and forcing his elbow to bend. I took his arm, twisted it towards me and abruptly yanked down while I simultaneously drove my knee upward to his chest. He latched onto my hip and tipped my center of gravity forward to regain control of the situation, then translated my forward momentum into rotational motion by finally grabbing me in a hold and throwing me down. I immediately struck from the ground with my feet to prevent him from pinning me down.

Jim nodded to signal an end to the demonstration and I neatly stood back to my feet.

"Okay, now you attack me," Jim motioned.

I immediately fell into a traditional front stance, my hips angled so that I might make myself as slim a target as possible. Jim watched me warily, never making eye contact. For a moment we stood, Jim in a defensive pose, myself calculating a sequence of moves that would end the match as swiftly as possible. In a sudden motion, I struck with quick front kick using my left foot, followed by harder, stronger front using the opposite foot. Jim blocked and attempted to grab my leg and redirect my forward energy into a throw, but I already struck him with a punch into his solar plexus. He breathed out, reducing the impact of the blow, but it still must have pained him. He grasped my inner elbow and pressed into a pressure point but I simply turned my body and shifted to a back stance and forced him forward. His side was now unprotected, so I kicked with the side edge of my right foot into his ribcage, then again with a powerful side kick up near his armpit. He motioned for me to stop.

"Okay," he shook his head and rotated his shoulder.

"Have I—"

"No, my shoulder's not dislocated, don't worry. But damn, you're fast. You really like that double kick combo, huh?"

"Opponents rarely expect it."

"Well, now I do," Jim winced slightly as he touched his ribs. "Anyway, did you guys notice anything about our styles? I know it probably went kind of fast. Might've been a little short too."

The crewmembers were silent for an interval. Jim continued to massage his shoulder joint and arm.

"Yeah, Ensign Barbarosa."

"Um, you really prefer to get up close and personal with the opponent. I think you kept trying to get the commander so that you could get him off balance and then use that to your advantage. For attacking and defending."

"Good! Great observation. Yeah, I'm much more of a close range fighter. I studied some judo and Brazilian jujitsu back at command school, which really emphasize getting a hold on your guy and playing around with his center of gravity. Great. Anyone notice anything else, maybe with Spock?"

"He punches and kicks really fast?"

"Captain? This isn't about the commander, but it also seemed like when you were attacking, you didn't want to kill or really hurt Commander Spock. It's like you wanted to restrain him, more like."

"Awesome comment. Five credits for you, Ensign Jakande. Great. Okay, so intent is one of the most important things when you're fighting. Again, I know this is a beginner self defense class, but even here, intent is important. Are you trying to just get out and away? Are you just trying to prevent yourself from getting hurt? Are you actually trying to subdue your opponent to stop him attacking? In all these scenarios, the way you fight and how hard you fight—how hard you hit or kick or whatever—will be determined by what you want to do in the end. We'll get to all that. Anything else?"

"Maybe this is related intent, but when you told Mr. Spock to attack, he started out like this," the yeoman stood as I had. "Whereas you just attacked without warning."

"Yeah, that's right. You noticed two good things there. First, and you guys already know this, but it bears repeating—surprise is a huge advantage. If you can surprise the guy almost half your work is done.

"Even with pros, they'll tell you that it's all about trying to distract your opponent, get him to concentrate on his pain or fake him out, or mix up your rhythm, so that you can just BAM hit him where he doesn't expect it. Like what Spock did to me, with his neat little combo move. Lots of the getaway methods we use are about inflicting lots of pain really quickly, in succession, so that they can't recover easily and run after you.

"Second, is about forms. Again, this goes back to individual fighting styles and what you feel comfortable with and what you want to do. Spock favors long, linear forms. If you noticed, he kind of fights along horizontal and vertical lines, or diagonals. Me, with my holds and grapples, I really try to get close. My motion doesn't follow neat lines—in fact, a lot of the times it's very circular.

"And that all is related to what I'm really trying to do. I want to get in a position of total power over the guy. In some ways, for me it's more a matter of dominating willpower than winning because I kicked harder. I'll apply pressure to different points, hyperflex his wrist or whatever and using that pain—which is pretty temporary—to get him to admit that I've won. Spock's fighting is more geared towards one punch breaks the guy's skull. He's got more distance, relatively speaking, and he's got a different aim.

"Just to illustrate my point about intent and drive it home, how many of you've ever been in or seen a bar fight?"

Several raised their hands.

"What're those guys trying to do? Are they actually trying to kill each other?"

"Yeah!" someone shouted. The crew around him laughed.

"Okay, yeah, it looks like that. But generally, at least when I'm in a barroom brawl, I'm not actually looking to get killed or kill anyone. It's just a couple of guys having a throw down. I'm gonna punch that sucker in the face, but I'm not going to use a hammer blow," Jim demonstrated, "to shatter his temple. That's a recipe for disaster. Maybe we'll bust each other up in the nose, get the blood flowing, bruise up a couple ribs, break a collarbone, but nothing serious."

The captain's definition of a 'serious' injury has something to be desired.

"Right, so everyone got that? Intent is important. Know what you want to do, and it makes fighting a lot easier—it keeps the panic at bay. When you get into higher levels, you get all fancy with that. If you're interested after this class, Giotto's got some cool intermediate and advanced sessions going on. For now, we're gonna teach you just really basic but valuable moves. Because in reality, unless you're a master at martial arts and shit, all of this is going on in the space of a few seconds, so ya probably aren't gonna make these decisions right then, or if you do it'll be in a split second.

"So enough talk, let's actually start to learn some self defense stuff. Lt. Giotto, some security people—Lt. Condor, Lt. Haaser, and Lt. Wu in particular—helped design this curriculum. They're around the room—wave guys, so they can see you—and they'll be helping you out with correct form and all that. If any of you guys have taken martial arts before, I'm just letting you know that we're gonna skip all that formal bowing to the sensei stuff. This is a starship, not a dojo or a dojang.

"Right, so line up into rows. We're gonna do some warm ups. And if you guys haven't been working out, well. Get ready for the workout of your life."


	68. Ch 68

"Why do you prefer striking styles? What's wrong with grappling and wrestling?"

"In truth, captain, I prefer not to engage in man-to-man combat at all. It is, however, necessary in our line of work. Whenever possible, I employ the nerve pinch. It effectively neutralizes the majority of our enemies while minimizing physical damage as well as open telepathic contact."

"Ooh," Jim said. "Right. Touch telepathy and all. But you really pick up their thoughts and shit from that short amount of contact?"

"It depends on the strength of the thoughts or emotions they are broadcasting. However, I find that unless the enemy is an extremely disciplined fighter, he is usually loudly relaying agitated and aggressive emotions, whether he is aware of it or not. I would rather avoid exposure to such emotions, if possible."

"I guess you have an advantage anyway, what with being ten times faster than humans and all."

"Your figure is exaggerated, but yes, Vulcan speed has certain advantages."

"And since the real power from kicks and shit is generated from the whiplash effect—"

"My ability in the Japanese Terran form known as karate is perfectly adequate. I have not studied it as formally as you seem to have studied hapkido, and it is likely that some master Terrans would be able to defeat me in a match. For our missions, it will suffice. Vulcans, if they still cultivated a martial skill set and valued that training, would undoubtly surpass my current skill set."

"Adequate? Spock, adequate isn't good enough. What if we go hand-to-hand against some Romulans or Klingons or something? I might need you to be at the top of your form."

"Captain, against whom would I practice? One may only improve in these disciplines by challenging oneself against others. No Terran can match my speed."

"Maybe not one of us. But a bunch of us can put up a decent fight, I'll bet. It'll give us an opporutunity to work on attacks as a team, too. We all win. What'd'ya say?"

I considered the suggestion.

"Your idea is not without merit."

"And you won't be exposed to nasty emotions, since this is just practice. We won't be gunning to kill you or anything. You can get used to that shit—acclimated."

"That is a possibility I had not considered."

"Hey! We could even do something like round robin chess boxing!"

"Jim, you are taking this idea too far."

"No no no, it's a great idea. Listen, we'll have rounds where you fight against a bunch of us, then we play a round of chess—I think I could manage a 3-D game now—and then attack you again and so on. You always have the upper hand in these long games we usually play. Now we play blitz chess!"

"Jim, we may play blitz chess without boxing intermittedly."

"That's part of the fun of it, though. Come on, Spock, please? I've been dying for some chess boxing."

I looked at him.

"I know that look. It's your 'I'm only going along with this because you're the captain look.' Right? So you'll do it?"

"One game."

"No way, no limits. If you say yes, we get to play all the time."

"The premise of the entire enterprise is ludicrous."

"Yeah—ludicrously awesome. You're gonna love it. I promise."

--

Our first match ended in a draw in all respects.

It seems that I overestimated my proficiency in martial arts. Defending against attacks by four different individuals, all of whom have extensively studied some form of man-to-man combat, placed some strain on my abilities.

Jim also had a distinct advantage in blitz chess. Like the segments of 'boxing,' I found myself on the defensive on the chess board. Only the fact that Jim made an erroneous move late in the end game saved me from being completely annihilated in that arena.

Several crewmembers gathered to watch the match between myself and the captain. The palpable excitement and anticipation the air was highly distracting. I will improve my focus in my next meditative cycle.

Nonetheless, I must admit that this has been a fascinating experience. I am well accustomed to focusing all my mental energy on an academic question, a mathematical problem, a laboratory experiment. As I have full control over my body and rarely tire as Terrans do, I never understood the pleasure they took in pushing their bodies to its limit through an intense physical exercise regimen. However, as I sparred against four men and women, I became intensely aware of my body moving, the muscles of my legs extending to kick, the orientation of my torso in relation to my hips, and the slow burn as lactic acid accumulated in my muscles.

I may be faster and stronger than Terrans in pure magnitude, but I found that their endurance surpassed mine. Jim and the others regularly practiced and their bodies were used to such activity. It was not so for my body. Stamina and muscle strength cannot simply be built through meditation sequences. Furthermore, my theoretical knowledge of various techniques was a poor substitute for the automatic, smooth muscle memory of the Terrans. It is necessary to practice the motions, to utilize the katas, rather than rely on my ability to program a series of muscle extensions and contractions into my repertoire.

It will be beneficial to repeat the experience.

--

"Captain," I said as we walked to our respective quarters.

Jim was beaming, drenched in sweat. "Yeah?"

"When might we schedule a rematch?"

I did not think it possible, but Jim's smile grew wider. "How about after our next mission? Whenever we both have a block of free time."

"That is agreeable," I turned to key in the sequence for my quarters.

"Oh and Spock?"

I was resigned to Jim saying,

"I told you so."


	69. Ch 69

"Steady as she goes, Jim," Engineer Scott warned. "I can't give yeh much more manueverability than that without severely compromisin' something."

"Scotty, we'll worry about compromised shit after we get out of _this_ shit storm. Uhura, is there _any_ distress signal, anything?"

"Jim, Starfleet records indicate that this planet was uninhabited."

"Spock, planets don't just fucking explode for no reason. Unless you'd like to fill me in on some new whacked out physics you've discovered?"

"Perhaps it is Kirk-force acting, keptan," Lt. Chekov suggested, his eyes trained on the numbers streaming before him.

"_What_? You guys actually got results for that thing?"

"What're you lads goin' on about up there?"

"Mr. Spock is finding significant results. We are publishing a paper about 'Localized Anomolies in the Space-Time Continuum' in peer rewiewed journal. It is a wery nice title—Mr. Spock picked it."

"Captain, a little help here?" Lt. Sulu gripped his controls, a strained look on his face.

An object collided with the ship. Lt. Sulu quickly adjusted for the change in momentum.

"Sickbay to bridge. What the hell is goin' on?"

"Not now, Bones. Scotty—"

"I'm givin' it all we've got here."

"Not good enough."

"If I had a sandwich for every time yeh've said that, I'd be a rich man."

"We'll all be dead men if we don't get my ship out of this debris field."

Mr. Scott sighed. "I'll be rewiring some of warp controllers ta impulse, get my lads to load a program from auxiliary control to the bridge. The things yeh make me do to this lovely lady—more crimes than I'sh'd allow on my good conscience—"

"What was that, Scotty?"

"Just sayin' that a man can only count on his compression drill and solderin' gun." The Chief Engineer sounded distinctly disgruntled.

"Yeah, I thought so. Uhura, are you getting anything?"

"Negative, captain. There's a lot of noise, but it honestly sounds like the planet disintegrated naturally."

"How can you tell?"

"The residual noise that comes from, say a massive weapon destroying a planet, would sound very different. It was theorized, and confirmed by the events of the _Narada_, that the quality of the signal after applying Fourier Polarization has a strong peak at the trans-quintic frequencies. I could bring up some charts and give you a long explanation about subspace noise theory—"

"Nah, I trust your judgment. Spock, what're your readings and scientists picking up?"

"This seems to be a completely natural event, captain. Computer models indicate that an extremely large object, likely an asteroid of unusual size and composition, collided with the planet. The magnitude of the force generated upon impact was sufficient to shatter both the planet and the asteroid, leaving behind this region of debris."

"So no Kirk-force involved. Just my luck that our path to Kantos Chu-dan is right in the middle of all this."

"It would appear so."

"Are you guys really calling it Kirk-force?"

"Jim, I'm about done with the first stages of rewiring down here. Why don't yeh give it a try."

"Hear that, Sulu?"

"Got it, captain. It's a little jerky, but still gives me some more range."

The ship shuddered.

"Steady as she goes there, Sulu! Yeh're already overloading some circuits down here—and there goes that capacitor, and isn't that nice, the semi-unuhexium inductor's registerin' exponential increase in magnetic field—ease your hold! This's very delicate, yeh need a gentle touch."

"All right, since no one's bothered to tell me what the hell is going on—say Jim, why're we hurtling through a goddamn field of rocks?" Dr. McCoy stared at the viewscreen.

"I'm workin' on it, Bones. We'll be out of here in how long, Chekov?"

"Twenty two minutes, keptan. Dr. McCoy, I would be sitting down. Hikaru is my friend and a wery good pilot, but ewen he cannot awoid turbulence."

"I'm gonna throw up."

"Not here. That was gross last time, I'm not cleaning that again. Do starships come with barf bags?"

Everyone on the bridge paused briefly to look at the captain, including Lt. Sulu. He quickly returned his attention to the helm.

"Guess that answers my question. Uh, Bones? Your face is green. Greener than Spock's, actually."

The doctor scowled at Jim. "Damnit Jim, you don't need ta go and insult me." He watched the view screen moodily. The intensity of his gaze and the crease at his brow suggested that Leonard McCoy operates under the misconception that he has the ability to remove physical barriers by the power of his stare.

"Bones? Just because you want to shoot them with your eyes, doesn't mean you actually can."

"Well why don't ya blast them away with the phasers? Be a hell of a lot easier ta get out of this mess."

"Yeah, that's exactly what I want to do, clutter this field with even more shit."

"Hikaru, we are needing course correction _sechas_—"

The ship jerked forward.

"You could'ta given me a little more warning, Pasha? And not in Russian?"

"I am saying _sechas_ all the time to you. It is meaning now. You are not remembering?"

"No, you're always sayin' _buistreye_ or something like that."

"Like I am going to say right now! 92 mark 7, _buistreye_!"

"Sulu, don't break my ship."

"Tryin', captain. These controls—"

"Scotty, what's going on? I thought you had this all taken care of."

"It tes now. Ought ta be steady sailing from now. I had ta reduce some of the gravity, so we'll be feelin' the effects of that right about," Engineer Scott paused, "now. Operatin' on lunar grav settings now."

"Right. Everything good, Sulu?"

"Better."

"I owe ya one, Scotty. Kirk out."

"Steady as she goes, captain."

"So we've just gotta sit tight until Sulu gets us out of here. Are your scientists getting all the info they need?"

"Affirmative. A natural collision between two solid planetary bodies is a rare event. The data will certainly yield interesting results. For example, it is not yet clear as to why the field of debris has been dispersed over so large a volume."

"Speaking of interesting results, you never answered my question. Are you really naming it Kirk-force?"

"It was part of a bargain, keptan. Either I am naming the force, or I am naming the paper. _Ya hatyel_, I wanted to name the paper 'New Effects of Kirk-force on U.F. Constants and Interactions on Takiyama Particles,' but Mr. Spock was thinking my title is too dramatic. He wants to call Kirk-force simply K-force. In the end, we compromise. I am not complaining.

"Hikaru, there is large massive rock ahead 18 mark 40. You cannot miss it if we are going along this path."

"Yeah, I see it, Pasha. These controls still stick a little, if that makes any sense."

"You are spoiled by instant response. In Russia, with Petya, they train him on older models so that when he flies new ship, he is faster than eweryone."

A very large piece of planetary rubble spun past us at an alarming speed. Jim held his breath while Lt. Sulu and Lt. Chekov rapidly maneuvered around it.

He relaxed when we finally emerged from the space. All departments reported minimal damage. Mr. Scott was unhappily undoing his handiwork, as Jim now demanded full warp capability.

"Never satisfied. The things I do for this madman," he mumbled before he went back to this duties after receiving Jim's new orders.

"How's the subspace noise?"

"The data makes this a textbook case of the Hnadapi effect."

"That's good, right?"

Nyota laughed. "It confirmed our hypothesis. I'm not sure I would assign moral values to a planet being smashed into bits."

"When you put it that way, you sound like Spock. Anyway, I'll tak your word for it. Sulu, you can go back to sleeping or fencing practice or whatever you were doing before this minor emergency cropped up. And you too, Chekov."

"I can stay, if you want. It's not a big deal. I'm already pumped on some adrenaline now anyway."

"No, you've been pulling too many emergency shifts. Don't think I haven't noticed. Bones'd string me up by my thumbs if he found out that I'm running you guys into the ground."

Lt. Sulu and Lt. Chekov nodded, attended to their final station duties, then left the bridge. The captain turned to me.

"Staying with me?"

"I have completely adjusted my schedule to accommodate yours, Jim."

He grinned. "Dinner after this shift?"

I nodded.

"Great. Uhura, send for one of your juniors. You said you did some pilot training? I wanna see how good you are."

Nyota looked somewhat unsure of herself as she took the helm.

"Don't worry, Spock and I won't let anything happen. I'm thinking of pushing you on a command track—you've got all the right stuff to make a great officer and wear one of these flashy gold shirts. Spock, give her the sequence, and punch it at Warp 2, lieutenant."

The ship lurched.

"Steady as she goes, Nyota."


	70. Ch 70

I have completely modified my routine to accommodate the demands of serving under Captain James Tiberius Kirk.

Previously, the parameters of my schedule were determined by the habits I established under my service with Admiral Christopher Pike. Like Captain Kirk, Admiral Pike was frequently required on the bridge at inconsistent hours. For that reason, the admiral logically mandated that I command the ship when Number One was off duty, so that he might always have one of his senior officers overseeing any emergency situation that might arise. There were several such occasions when I simply held chaos at bay until Admiral Pike stepped on the bridge and I relinquished the command chair to him. Number One always followed by his side.

It was during these times that I was able to observe their organic co-leadership. Number One and Christopher Pike balanced one another in many respects. They were two opposed halves, but not in the sense of, for example, negative and positive integers. When one takes an integer and its additive inverse, the sum is zero. Admiral Pike and Number One did not cancel in each other out in that sense. They were complements, like open and closed subsets, the union of which produces the whole set.

The Terrans with whom I served derived much assurance from the soundness of the command structure. They trusted that where one erred, the other would correct, where one miscalculated, the other would recalibrate. And so it was. Admiral Pike, while he is not as unpredictable and impetuous as Jim, often makes decisions based on nothing but his intuition. For example, he assigned Jim Kirk, at the time a stowaway aboard the _Enterprise,_ as my First Officer, offering no justification for his action. Number One tempered the admiral's emotional thinking and impulsive leanings with her exceptional intelligence and rationality.

She once confided to me the endless frustration she felt when she first served under the admiral.

"Every proof I offered, every rational argument I made, he would simply acknowledge and ignore or not listen at all."

"I was not aware that the captain was previously antagonistic towards logical disciplines. He does not currently demonstrate any aversion, passive or active, to your evaluations. Indeed, he consistently solicits your analysis."

"I've served with Christopher Pike for several years. We have both changed significantly."

"If I may put forward a query."

"Yes?"

"If psychological composition of Captain Pike was distinctly incompatible with your own, why did you remain? Would not logic have dictated the necessity for you to seek an alternative?"

Number One smiled enigmatically. "I didn't think frustration was satisfactory justification to seek another post. There were certainly times when I was tempted to submit my transfer forms. But considering the spectrum of my experience with the benefit of hindsight, I would never want to deprive myself of the revelation of all that he and I have accomplished together.

"I could never have imagined that my life would follow this course, I would never have thought that I would do, experience, and see half the things I've done. My time with him, with this crew, has far surpassed anything I could conceive of. And best of all—it's real."

"You refer to the Talosians."

"In part. But there is more than that, Lt. Spock."

I believe I have a better understanding of her words now than I ever did when I served with her.

Shortly after I was joined the admiral's crew, he was abducted by the highly developed cerebral alien species capable of telepathically projecting all encompassing illusions on their subjects. The details of the mission are not clear, and as I was only beginning my service as a senior officer, I was not granted full disclosure. I did grasp that the situation was such that Number One could not claim that her actions were wholly motivated by logic. There were no numbers she could cite to support her continued search for her captain. There was no indication that he was alive. There was no means by which she could break the illusion of the Talosians. Still, she continued to search.

I have often found myself in similar predicaments.

The command team formed by Admiral Pike and Number One was such that there was room for no other. My role was to act as an alternate to Number One should she be absent or unavailable for whatever reason. I was not granted an equal part in their relationship, nor did I seek such a position. It was clear to me that Admiral Pike had selected me as his Second Officer because my thought processes bore a resemblance to that of his First. I fulfilled that role and performed my duty.

It is not so with Jim and Leonard. By means and methods unknown, we have become a triumvirate. I have reflected extensively on my time aboard this ship, and cannot find the point at which our disparate parts coalesced to form a tripartite whole.

How did it happen that the man I once suspected a hysterical xenophobe, I now count him a compatriot? Leonard and I will never agree on certain matters. Those subjects which we constantly debate are rooted in the fundamentally opposing nature of our characters for he is, in his own words, a man anchored in heart and blood. However, we have reached a truce, initiated by our common responsibility to Jim, forged by our missions together, and cemented by mutual respect. Leonard McCoy is a brilliant doctor and a startling man. He is sarcastic and stubborn, devoted and humble. He considers himself a simply country doctor but I consider him a soldier, fighting against the dying of the light.

How did it happen that the only place I desire to be in this vast universe is at the right hand of James T. Kirk? I have killed for this man. I would lie for him, if he asked it of me. Vulcans hold truth to be sacred above all things, yet I would violate that sanctity. Already I have stood by his side while he bluffed and cheated his way out of diplomatic misunderstandings, various Starfleet social functions, and death, complicit in my silence. At the beginning of my service, I would not have hesitated to correct his misrepresentation or brazen falsification of truth. Now, I would willingly be party to his actions and accept the full weight of all consequences.

A pre-Warp Terran once wrote that "friendship is a serious affection; the most sublime of all affections, because it is founded on principle, and cemented by time." What is the principle upon which this friendship was founded? When I first met Jim, facing him at his academic hearings, I did not think he and I could have any shared principles, nor did I want such commonalities to be existent between us. His reputation preceded him, and Nyota's report of his typical behavior made me wary. When I began to serve under him as his First Officer, I was persuaded that the captain and I would never establish a stable working relationship as officers. Never did I foresee friendship.

My alternative self spoke of a friendship that would define us both, in ways that I could not yet realize. I have often thought of the promise held in those words, but each time concluded that this universe irrevocably unlike his universe. Now, I find that this promise has been fulfilled. The person who I am now is markedly altered from the person I was not one Terran year ago.

How did this happen?

In this case, I find that my analysis utterly fails me. I think back to specific moments, discrete intervals which I might identify as a beginning or an end. But the sum of these distinct parts does not yield the whole. If one may speak of this as a calculus, the Riemann sum can only give an approximation of the integral. It will never yield the true answer until the size of one's partitions vanish to zero—an impossibility to count an infinite number of infinitesimal moments.

Still, I try to approximate. For there are principles that center us. They define us, more than identifications as Terran or Vulcan, more than Starfleet's system of ranks, even more than our pasts. A love for exploration and discovery of new things. A fascination with space and all the life it holds. A burning desire to be both free and accepted.

"Founded on principle, and cemented by time." Time—there lies the crux of the matter. How many times have he and I disagreed and argued? How often have we misunderstood each other, doubted, angered, hated, annoyed, aggravated, upset, insulted, violated, confused, hurt, or simply not seen each other? And conversely, how many times has he stood near me silently, smiled at me, looked at me with his clear blue eyes? He never wavers, and I always return to his side.

And so, I have completely modified my schedule to be with Jim. I am on the bridge with him, I dine with him, I spar with him, I play chess with him. When he sleeps, I conduct my laboratory experiments, meditate, complete my reports—I do everything necessary so that I might walk with him as he checks in with each department and goes about his day.

_E__ntreat me not to leave thee, and to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God; where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried; the __Lord__ do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me._

"Hey Spock. Ready?"

I nod.

Jim smiles, his eyes teasing. "Great. Let's roll. Fill me in." He clasps his right hand on my right shoulder, then releases his hold.

Time passes—an infinitesimal moment, an everlasting interval.

As we walk, his fingers brush the small of my back.


	71. Ch 71

"Ready, Lt. Uhura?"

"Yes, captain."

"Okay, remember, if anything, anything at all goes south, I want you to get the hell out of there or give command of the team over to Spock. This is supposed to be routine. No one dies."

"I've got it, Jim."

"And if you can, try to play it close to the Starfleet rule book."

I raised my eyebrows at Jim. He rolled his eyes.

"Don't say it," he ordered. "I'm on the fence about this as it is. My gut's telling me something's gonna go wrong because it always fucking goes wrong."

"Jim, we'll be fine. I'll bring everyone back in one piece—you don't need to worry," Nyota said soothingly.

"Call in every hour."

"Yes, dad," she laughed. Nyota moved off the transporter pad towards the captain. "I know what I'm doing. Between you and Spock, you've trained me really well." She placed her hand on the captain's arm and squeezed, then made direct eye contact. "So don't worry. Besides, _k__upoteya njia ndiyo kujua njia_. If I get lost, I'll just learn the way."

Jim's face softened and his body relaxed. "Spock?"

"Jim."

"You already know what I'm gonna say."

"Affirmative, captain."

"Good. Don't be late for dinner," he smiled. "Scotty—energize."

--

Since the captain's decision to broaden Nyota's responsibilities and begin to train her as a commanding officer, she has accompanied either Jim, myself, or the two of us on a total of four away missions. She has piloted the ship under our supervision on several occasions, though she has not yet taken the conn. While it is too early to make any conclusive statements concerning her future competence as a commander, our sessions together strongly indicate that she will be a steady, solid commanding officer. She does not have the sheer nova-like brilliance of Jim, but compared to those officers that Starfleet graduates, she would be ranked in the top 90th percentile.

This will be the first time that she leads an away team. Jim has decided to remain on the ship while I observe Nyota's actions in the field, and in case any dire situation arise. We are investigating the planet Formata, an uninhabited Class M planet. Scans and Starfleet records have noted an especially wide range of life forms and a unique biodiversity. We have been ordered to collect various samples and simply explore the planet to see if we might learn of the source of the planet's unusual fertility. Starfleet is also looking to export certain plants to Vulcan II, as investigations in their lab reveal startling similarities between the plants native to Vulcan and those found on Formata. This fact is particularly strange as Formata's climate does not resemble that of Vulcan, yet the evolutionary paths of Formic plants must have followed similar trajectories.

The Away Team includes Lt. Sulu, who was overflowing with enthusiasm to sample the flora of the planet. Jim originally did not include Lt. Sulu in the team roster, but apparently the lieutenant promised Lt. Griffin several bottles of alcohol and recreation room credits to take his place on the team. When Jim learned of this, he simply added Lt. Sulu to the roster in addition to Lt. Griffin, joking that he should, "auction off Away Team slots, and probably make a shitload of money." I pointed out that some missions would likely be extremely unpopular, and he would have to provide compensation to obtain volunteers.

"Nah. I'd just order people. Benefits of bein' a captain."

Training Nyota has become a source of great satisfaction for the captain and he is surprisingly apt at the task, in his own way. Jim does not teach as I had at the Academy. Like everything he does, he takes a hands-on approach. The relationship between Jim and Nyota may not be categorized as a traditional interaction between student and teacher. I would liken it to the old pre-Warp Terran system of guilds, where Jim is the master of his craft and Nyota is the apprentice. In all honesty, I know of no better person from which to learn the art of leading a Starfleet vessel than James Tiberius Kirk. He does not demand that Nyota emulate his own inimitable style, nor does he teach strictly by the Starfleet manual. Jim encourages Nyota to find her own strengths and weaknesses, to be aware of them, and to effectively use them.

"You've got to be in control of yourself first, before you can order around a giant ship and all the people in it. I learned that the hard way," his glanced at me sideways. "But I had the best crew to catch me when I fell, and call me out when I was being stupid."

That is not to say that the relationship between Jim and Nyota is without its problems. My role in this endeavor is twofold. First, I act as a mediator between their two strong and diametrically opposed personalities. Jim's orders and teachings can be vague and sometimes completely garbled. He functions at his optimum when there is little or no structure, that is to say rules and limits, restricting his operation. Nyota, however, is not so. Her dislike of unstructured and chaotic languages translates into her command environment. Nyota needs a specific objective or organizing principle to manage the space, missions, and people around her. She would prefer to learn all of Starfleet's protocols and then modify them as she gains more experience, while Jim disregarded Starfleet's guidelines and later added them to his repertoire as he began to appreciate their value. In my individual time with Nyota, she vents her frustration at the captain to me and I attempt to explain to her his anarchic rationale. Likewise with Jim.

My secondary role, a corollary to my role as an intermediary, is to observe both the captain and Nyota. As Nyota once said, I have the ability to "extract ten thousand things about a person simply by observing them and analyzing," and I put this to use to make the lessons more effective for both Jim and Nyota. For example, I suggested that as Nyota is a kinesthetic learner and needs to feel the results of her orders, rather than immediately sitting her in the captain's chair as Jim originally desired to do, we train her first in commanding small teams, then increase the magnitude of the circumstances. She already has extensive experience with diplomatic missions, so this lesson would not be difficult to master.

This mission is something of an evaluation of the material she has learned thus far. Jim is anxious that she should pass for several reasons. In some respects, he is taking this to be an evaluation of his success as a teacher, and is worried that he has not taught her properly. He is wants to move on to "bigger and more exciting shit. This stuff's getting kinda boring—she could recite the stuff backwards if she wanted to." I suspect, however, that Jim is chiefly concerned because Nyota has become something of a protégé, a representation of all the things Jim has learned. He himself is still learning to hone and finesse his command skills.

"I've never wanted immortality, but I can kind of understand now why people do. It's like the stuff I'm teaching her is my legacy. I'll admit that Starfleet has some things right and some good ideas, but there's tons of gaps in their training. I'm not saying that I'm filling all those gaps—not by a long shot—but I've learned a lot, and I want to pass it on. It's useful shit.

"Let's tackle Sulu next. I bet he'll make a kickass captain someday."

--

"Uhura to Kirk."

"Yup. Everyone down safe?"

"Aye, captain. We'll check back in with you in an hour. Try not to worry too much."

"Who me, worry? What worry? I'm monitoring your frequencies."

Nyota rolled her eyes and laughed. "Right. Uhura out."

The mission proceeded as planned for the first four hours. Nyota had planned to take a break for lunch, but the scientists and Away Team members were so enthralled by the mission, they chose to forego the meal and proceed. I am not certain that Lt. Sulu was cognizant of the conversation at all, as he was completely engrossed in taking measurements of the photosynthesis and light reactions of the leaves around him.

In the sixth hour, thirty minutes before we were to beam back aboard the _Enterprise_, we found ourselves surrounded by a swarm of insects.


	72. Ch 72

"Nobody make any aggressive move," Nyota commanded. "Spock, can we beam up?"

"The density of these insectoid creatures around us is such that the transporter will not be able to lock onto our signal and beam us aboard without retrieving some of these alien species around us. The Prime Directive strictly forbids such and act."

"We can't just really quickly beam them back down?" Lt. Sulu asked, apprehensive. "They're just bugs."

"No, they're not just bugs," Nyota said, carefully watching the insects. "They might be a lot smaller than us, but these are much bigger than any insect we've ever seen, with the exception of the Lapthyans."

"Relative size isn't an indication of intelligence," Ensign Snodgrass squeaked.

"Relative size of the cranium usually signals some form of intelligence, ensign. You will notice that these insects, their heads are disproportionately large compared to their bodies."

"The eyes kind of, uhm, bulge. Out. A lot," Lt. Sulu helpfully commented. "They look sort of like giant flying ants. Or killer wasps."

"I will inform the captain of our situation and tell him of the delay."

I opened my communicator and adjusted the dial. Somehow, this triggered a reaction among the insects, who began to swarm aggressively towards me.

"Spock, drop it!" Nyota ordered.

The insects had closed the circle around us.

"Hello? Is anyone there? Spock?"

"I'll handle this. Captain? We've run into some complications. It probably isn't serious, but we might be late. Don't send down other people—"

"What the hell happened? Shit, I knew something was going to go wrong!"

"Jim, calm down. I've got it under control."

"Are you sure? Spock, maybe you should take command—"

"Nyota, the captain's suggestion seems reasonable."

"No. This's a crisis, and I need to learn how to handle it on my own. I've got some ideas, so let me do this. I know that you and Spock are right there for me if something happens."

There was silence as Jim considered his decision. "All right. I'll give you this one," he said. "Don't make me regret it."

"Yes, sir. Uhura out."

The connection terminated.

Lt. Sulu looked at Nyota. "So now what."

"Try to communicate with them, if we can. They might not even know that we're sentient, like we're uncertain that they are."

"With what? All of them? How do we even know if they can see or hear like we do?" Lt. Prajadhipok asked.

"That's why it's called trying. Ensign Snodgrass, I want you to try and use the light from your tricorder to flash the sequence of prime numbers. Lt. Griffin, use your universal translator—it's probably useless—but use it anyway to see if we get anything comprehensible. Lt. Prajadhipok, use your tricorder to signal the sequence of prime numbers at different frequencies. Lt. Sulu, what do you know about insects and odors?"

"Not a lot. I know that back on Earth, sometimes insects can identify each other by smells, or what we think of as smells. But I don't have any idea what kind of scent might translate as 'we come in peace' to them."

"Try what you can. Though, I think that using plant odors might be a bad idea, since they might interpret that to mean that _we_ are flowers."

"I'm on it."

"Spock, do you think you could use your telepathy and somehow sense them? Reach out to them, if they have an intelligence?"

"I have been attempting to do so."

"And?"

"It is strange. All of these minds are at once loosely individual and connected. Their thoughts are variations that lead back to a single source. I believe that it is with this source that we need to communicate."

"What are the nature of those thoughts?"

"I do not know. I am not in direct contact with the insects. Even so, I do not know if I would classify these impressions I am receiving as thoughts. They are indescribable. It is as though there were currents of perception, sensory information, biological instinct muddled together in a river, but there is some overarching motive guiding the course of that river. The river at once feeds into and is fed by the minds around us," I paused and frowned. "And others."

"It sounds like you're describing a hive mind. If that's the case, we have to find the leader among this group."

"This is not entirely what Starfleet classifies as a hive mind. In a hive mind, there is only one consciousness that directs the activity of the others. It is the sole entity with will and thought, and parts of that entity occupy the other bodies, which have no identity or individuality. Here, there are many minds, and I believe each mind has a will. All of these minds make up the mosaic of their consciousness and there is one point, likely a single mind, that acts as a binding agent and ensures that all the individuals act in accord with one another. The binding agent in and of itself cannot provide the entirety of this consciousness to continue its existence."

"That doesn't imply intelligence, though, does it."

"Correct. I have discerned nothing but pure sensation. There is no indication of rational thought."

Nyota shook her head. "My time talking to the Lapthyans has me convinced that insects conceptualize numbers and ideas in a completely different way. I think these Formates around us are intelligent in some measure. Probably not as developed as the Lapthyans, since there's absolutely no indication of permanent structures, civilization, development of technology. Still, our attempts at communication will be much more successful if we can contact this source. Do you know if it's here?"

"Negative."

"Lt. Uhura?"

"Yes, Lt. Prajadhipok?"

"I'm getting some kind of response here. What do we call these? Formics? Formates? They're emitting these really low frequency waves, way outside our hearing range, in response to my sequence at about 1 Hz."

Lt. Sulu, Ensign Snodgrass, and Lt. Griffin abandoned their tasks and gathered around us.

"Is it a match? What's your data?"

"As far as I can tell, it's jibber jabber. There's no discernible sequence here."

Nyota took the tricorder and watched the readings closely.

"If their hearing range is that low, then we must sound really high and squeaky," Ensign Snodgrass said, eyeing the insects and shifting from foot to foot.

"Quiet. I need to listen to this. Spock, do you have your—?"

I gave to her an earpiece. She manipulated the dials to shift the frequency into the human visible range, amplified the alien signals, and made calculations to cut out any noise. Her brows were furrowed and by all appearances, she was counting beats between sounds.

"Oh my god." Nyota took the earpiece out and looked up at me. "It's a fugue. Six voices, all communicating some message, or messages, through these incredibly complex sequences and point and counterpoint relations. I couldn't find the prime number sequence in there, but the way they communicate is incredible."

Lt. Sulu took the earpiece from Nyota and listened for a moment. "I think—I think I got it! It's not the prime number sequence—I'm not sure that they're advanced enough to know that yet. But they are sequences of numbers, in multiples of six. I think their mathematics revolves around base six."

"The obvious question is, how do we translate that into a message?" Lt. Griffin said.

Nyota frowned again. She looked at the wall of insects that surrounded us. "We're overthinking this."

"Lieutenant?"

"You five stay back, including you, Spock. Let me try this. It may or may not work, but—"

Nyota stepped towards the insects. She held out both arms in a traditional Terran gesture of welcome.

The insects signals stopped on the tricorder. The wall of airborne Formates parted to make way for another Formate, larger and significantly different in physiology. The multifaceted eyes of the insect were significantly smaller, the mandible more pronounced, and the cranium larger. The thorax was black and the abdomen elongated and its wingspan was wider to compensate for the difference. This insect settled into Nyota's arms and began to probe her body using its antennae.

"I think it's trying to communicate with me," she called back. "The Lapthyans communicate primarily through antennae connections and movements. Ow!"

"Nyota?"

"Don't worry. It just bit me? I'm all right though. It's clicking it's mandibles. I think it's trying what I'm trying—I'm tapping their base six sequence back to her antenna."

"How do you know it's a girl?" Lt. Sulu called.

"I don't. I don't know what to make of her mandible movements, it's very different from the Lapthyans. There's really no basis of comparison. Oh—she's flapping her wings. Or moving them, in conjunction with using her antennae to return that sequence. And she's giving me a new sequence! It's—I don't know what it is. I'm not sure if it's arithmetic.

"No—it's a diagram? She's drawing a hexagon repeatedly. I suppose I'll return the motion."

The Formate abruptly took flight from Nyota's arms. She hovered and seemed to look at Nyota. Then the insect turned and flew away. The others began to follow after her, but then stopped and turned back when we did not move.

"I think we're meant to go with them."

"I don't have a good feeling about this," Ensign Snodgrass wheezed.

"Tactical column," Nyota ordered. "Lt. Griffin, you're in the front with me. Sulu, you cover the back. Spock, help Ensign Snodgrass. I think he's getting panicked."

--

We approached a towering, delicate structure made entirely out of the fibers of various dead plants transformed into a grey translucent paper. The base of the nest was extremely wide and it rose up to the uppermost branches of the trees. The structure was one unit composed of hexagons, upon which the Formates labored. Inside the hexagons one could see new eggs and maturing larvae, while in other sectors new Formates were emerging from the hexagons. It was truly a sight to behold.

"Home. A hexagon means home," Nyota said, awed.

While the majority of the Formates seemed to be working on assisting the young, caring for the new eggs, feeding or attending to some task, there were those also dedicated to expanding this structure. Working alongside them were artists inscribing geometric symbols into the hexagons. They painted using their antennae, dipping it into the primitive ink and applying a design to the wall.

"This must be the first step in their evolution towards civilization," Lt. Griffin remarked with similar reverence. "They're trying to represent the world around them using symbols. This image with three hexagons and two lines—it must be the sign for themselves. A crude reflection of reality."

Lt. Sulu was busy examining the paper building and taking samples with his tricorder. "This must be also be the source of all the incredible biodiversity on this planet. They have an intelligent species of pollinators, which allows for all these different plants to cross breed and constantly exchange genes."

"Look! They even have a picture here of war. The head—that figure with the larger lower hexagon, probably for the large abdomen—is being consumed by another!"

"It'd be interesting to come back to this place a few hundred years later to see how this species develops. Would they develop agriculture like we did? What's their idea of art and language? Actually, what's their idea of us?"

"That's what worries me most," Nyota interrupted. "We're aliens. We're disturbing the natural development of this species and violating the Prime Directive, even though we didn't even know it. If this species follows Earth's early superstitious history at all, they'll think that we're gods. Spock even made telepathic contact with them, and we don't even know if they detected his presence or not. We need to get out of here before any more damage is done."

"That may be difficult, Nyota."

The Queen—as she was surely the Queen Formate to the colony, approached.

"Do you wish for me to initiate telepathic contact with her, Nyota?"

"No," she replied slowly. "I think I can communicate to her, very basically, what we need to do."

"Very well."

Nyota held out her arms to the Queen again, who landed softly in her arms. I used my tricorder to record as the Queen inscribed something on Nyota's palm. She concentrated on the feeling, then returned with her own series of taps and motions against the antenna. The Queen repeated the same motion. Nyota tried another sequence. This continued for some time as the Queen repeated her same motions—a hexagon with a smaller, oblong hexagon inscribed within it. She desired that we stay with her. Nyota, understanding the oblong hexagon to represent us, struggled to translate the word for 'sky.' As humanoids, we are naturally oriented towards the ground. Thus in primitive art, the background of scenes was assumed to denote the ground, and differences were denoted. For the Formates, as a winged species, the sky is their default point of reference, and they have no distinct symbol for the sky.

In the end, Nyota drew another city composed of triangles, squares, circles, and pentagons and placed each of us, an oblong hexagon, in those buildings. This puzzled the Queen, who seemed preoccupied with the fact that the buildings were such a variety of shapes. As Nyota repeated the message again and again, the Queen looked at her through multifaceted eyes. She marked another diagram into Nyota's hand. One represented herself, and on it she made markings for wings, and she drew the oblong hexagon once more firmly inside a larger hexagon.

_You cannot fly_ it seemed to say.

Nyota spoke. "_Kila ndege huruka na mbawa zake__._" Every bird flies with its own wings. Then, she placed an oblong hexagon inside a circle, with a regular hexagon empty and away from the circle.

For reasons unknown, this satisfied the Queen. She flew from Nyota's arms and hovered at her side. Nyota signaled to us prepare for beam up. With the Queen looking on, Nyota communicated to the ship to stand by to beam up.

Before we left, Nyota stepped towards the Queen. She held out a hand. The Queen extended an antenna and they brushed against each other for a moment. After an interval, Nyota stepped back and returned to us.

"Scotty? Six to beam up. Let's go home."

--

"Did I pass?"

Jim looked at me. "What'dya think, Spock? Does she pass?"

"Nyota performed more than adequately. She masterfully utilized her skills as a communications officer to resolve the problem. I believe she is ready to move on to the next stage, whatever that may be."

"But she violated the Prime Directive."

"Unintentionally. I believe you would have done no differently, Jim. There was no means of ascertaining that the species was capable of higher thought and evolving to form more complex societies."

"I dunno. Maybe she needs to go on one more mission, some really dangerous military one," Jim's eyes sparkled.

"Jim." I looked at him.

"Okay, fine, I'll cut it out. You won't even let me play devil's advocate."

There was a pause.

"So?!" Nyota said, absolutely exasperated with both of us.

"We'll try your hand at some engineering training tomorrow, lieutenant. Dismissed," Jim smirked and saluted from his chair.

Nyota stood before him, arms crossed. Jim gave her an innocent "what?" expression.

"Unbelievable. You're still an arrogant asshole."

Jim took out an apple from nowhere. He polished it on his sleeve and took a huge bite.

"Yeah. But that's why you love me," he grinned.

"So help me God."


	73. Ch 73

"Nyota?"

"Captain?" Nyota turned to face Jim. He was frowning at his datapad.

"We're going to Deneva?"

"Those are Starfleet's new orders, sir. They've marked it an emergency situation and have diverted our course."

"Um, why?"

"There've been reports from other starships and colonies that there's a kind of space-bug going around, infecting planets and devasting all the life. Starfleet scientists project that Deneva is the next system in the path of this disease, and they'd like us to investigate, and if possible prevent, the predicted outcome. It's all in the file, Jim. I wrote the 500 word summary myself."

"I know. I read it."

I rose from my station and walked to the captain. Nyota straightened in her chair.

"Then what's the problem?"

Jim seemed to waver, then gather his resolve.

"Nothing. Nevermind. It's nothing. Spock, you've got the conn. Actually, Nyota, you take the conn. Spock, you come with me. We'll be back," Jim promised.

Nyota gave me a look of concern. _Tell me what's going on later_.

Jim entered the turbolift and did not voice a command. I stood by his side.

"You choose. Maybe Sickbay. Or my quarters. Or the gym. I don't know. It's all the same to me," he shrugged.

"Very well. Observation deck," I ordered.

Jim exhaled. He did not seem to be aware of my presence as the turbolift stopped and we walked to the deck. Jim keyed in his captain's sequence for the deck and locked it. He also lowered the temperature significantly.

For a moment, he stared at the dark of space and the objects visible as sparks of light. He inhaled.

I waited, watching the captain. The lines of his body were tense. There was no light in the observatory save a few soft emergency lights near the exits and on the floor.

Jim closed his eyes and slowly exhaled. His breathing resumed its normal pace and he simply looked at the spread of the galaxy before him as though he were reminding himself of something.

"Bones knows bits and pieces of this. He was there during that awkward transmission between me and George, right after I got my captain's commission."

Jim looked at me briefly.

"George hates me. He won't say it, but I've always known. I don't really care," he shrugged. "Whatever."

"Is this the source of your apprehension, Jim? You dread a confrontation with your brother?"

"Nah, I mean it's not like I can change the way he feels about me. If he's gonna be an ass, then that's his problem. I've got a shitload of other things to worry about.

"I mean, like practically everything else in my life, me and George not getting along is kinda related to the _Narada_ and Nero being a dick," Jim said, his tone light. "George didn't go with Mom and Dad on the _Kelvin_. Their mission was supposed to be short—shorter than ours, anyway—so Mom left him with some family friends. He didn't wanna stay, but there's that whole rule about 'no kids on Starships,' which is bull, in my opinion. I dunno how old he was, but he was pretty young. Dad promised him some cool space rocks or something for his collection when they got back."

Jim had a sarcastic expression on his face.

"I guess I was that cool collection of space rocks. Kid psychology's kind of weird. From what Mom told me, George and Dad were really close. He hated it when Dad had to leave on missions, 'cause he couldn't go with him.

"Well, with that whole _Kelvin_ thing, Dad decides that he's got a hero streak in him, gets himself blown up, never returns from space. Kids don't really care that much about details, you know? The only thing they understand is that Dad and Mom left and promised to come back, but now they're saying that Dad's gone forever and Mom doesn't have time anymore because she's got this screaming baby. And Dad is gone forever.

"Not that surprising that George hates me, when you think about it.

"It didn't help that Mom got remarried. George, I mean. I was probably like four years old. Mark—my stepdad, _was_ a dad to me, since I didn't know any other. He was great. But George never got along with Mark, or Mom for that matter, because it was like Mark took Dad's place in the family. Mom said that George visited Dad's grave a lot and talked to him. But he basically the odd one out in the family. And, I was really annoying as a kid, so that definitely didn't make things better.

"Everyone has their own way of dealing with that shit. George got really into biology. He's a research biologist on Deneva right now, studying something about protein evolution. He applied for some fancy science schools as soon as he could, and Mom let him go. When we all decided to move to Tarsus, George didn't wanna come with us. He had a bunch of friends, he was doing well in school, all that normal stuff. I guess it's good that he didn't come along.

"But when shit went down in Tarsus and I came back alone, I guess it was like the _Kelvin_ again but with Mom, this time. We were both messed up with emotional backlash and all. George said some things—he apologized for them later—but I could tell he meant them.

"So we never really got along. The only time you'd find us together in a room was when we played chess back in the old house in Iowa."

"Jim—"

"There's nothing I can do about it. George's got his own baggage that he's gotta sort through. That's not the issue.

"You know in science, if the data lines up in a row, you've probably got a trend? I'm kinda wondering if the universe has some score to settle against me. First my dad, then my mom and stepdad, and now my brother? Some planetary disease that kills off all life, and my brother happens to be living—with his wife—on this planet? What the hell did I _do_ in an another life to get such crappy karma?"

"Jim, humans often imbue completely random and unrelated events with special significance in an attempt to make sense of the chaos that pervades their lives. They have a strong aversion to the idea that the universe, if we are to personify this object, is indifferent, and so seek to create meaning where no such meaning exists.

"You know this. The universe does not have an active agenda that it realizes, nor does hold a grudge against you, as you seem to believe. It is governed by the impersonal and constant laws of physics. From this viewpoint, the events that unfold in the course of our lives are not good or bad, just or unjust, right or wrong. They may only be categorized as those that are real, and those that are not."

"You suck at comforting people," he joked.

I acknowledged his remark. "Many find this to be a cold comfort. Most philosophical tracts I have read deal with this and ask, what is the reason for living if there is no meaning?"

"And you have an answer?"

I shook my head. "I am a scientist. I do not ask why the universe exists, but seek to describe it. In this galaxy, all alien species have provided their own answers, in one form or another. Terrans are often guided by religion, Klingons by the prospect of glory in conquest, Vulcans by the pure abstract realms of thought."

"What about you?"

I considered my reply. Jim took my silence to be a sign of reticence.

"Sorry, you don't have to answer that. That was idiotic, asking you that what with Vulcan imploding—" Jim rambled.

"It is a valid query. I would like to answer it, if you have no objections?"

Jim shook his head. "No, go for it."

I looked out at the darkness. "In our exploration of deep space, I have found that life is a rare thing. Its origins are complex, its forms diverse, and its existence startling," I turned and made eye contact with Jim. "It is self contradictory—at once fragile and resilient, individual and universal. Life as a collective entity in this universe is mindless. It simply seeks to propogate itself wherever it may. Yet it produces species that are able to create, act, think, and reflect. When one considers the accomplishments of any sentient civilization—the art they produce, the technology they build, the thoughts they discover, it is awe inspiring."

Jim turned his attention back to the stars.

"There is no reason that such a thing as 'life' should exist in the universe. We have already explored several solar systems in which conditions are favorable for life, but nothing has evolved. Indeed, it is likely that nothing will evolve unless some random, completely unpredictable event initiates the process.

"Yet life exists in the universe and where it exists, it thrives. In the process of its struggle to persist, it creates its own meaning because _we_ seek it. The extraordinary fact that I am living, when the vast majority of matter in this universe is inanimate and empty, is enough for me to continue."

Jim looked at me, his expression open. _Space is a miracle_.

"What about other stuff? Like love? Or," he motioned between the two of us. "This? It doesn't keep you going?"

"I am not certain that I comprehend your meaning. It is true that individuals often choose to define their lives in terms of their relationships with others. However, it is their prerogative."

"You've got a really round about way of saying that we give life its significance."

"My perspective is more refined than that, Jim."

"It's basically the same thing."

"If you wish to interpret my words in that manner, I cannot prevent you from doing so."

He laughed and briefly placed his left hand to my right shoulder. He had closed the distance between us. As his laughter faded, his expression turned serious.

"You are still anxious."

"Even if the universe isn't out to get me, I think Starfleet is. They want me to prevent this monster intersolar epidemic?"

"You have always found a way, Jim. There is nothing that you cannot accomplish when you set your will to it."

Jim's eyes lit up. "You believe in me?"

"I have gathered extensive data and performed careful analysis and obtained significant statistical results."

Jim regarded me carefully. "I've changed, you know," he finally said. "I hacked the _Kobayashi Maru_ because I didn't have you by my side. There wasn't any other solution. Now I know that you and me—you and me and Bones and the crew, we woulda found a way to win that situation too, screw the rigged programming."

"Bridge to Captain Kirk, bridge to Captain Kirk."

Jim straightened and went to the nearest terminal. "Kirk here. What's up?"

"Updates on the Deneva situation have just come in, Jim. I thought you'd like to know, and maybe set up a conference."

"Okay, we'll be up in a sec. Round up all the medical staff, any scientists specializing in xenobiology or history of epidemics—talk to Spock about that—have Bones meet me at my quarters. What time is it? And what's our ETA for Deneva?"

"Currently 0827, and ETA is estimated at 1240."

"Schedule the meeting for 0845 so that people can get their shit together. Oh and get the usual people—Scotty, Chekov, Sulu, Chapel, you know, in the conference too."

"Aye, sir."

"Anything else, Lt. Uhura?"

"No, captain."

"Kay. I'll see you in 15."

The connection terminated. Jim looked at me and flashed a grin.

"Goin' my way?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Is there any other way, Jim?"

"Then let's get this party started."


	74. Ch 74

"Anything, lieutenant?"

Jim was tense. Everyone around him unconsciously tensed as well, completely focused on the mission.

"No sir. I've tried every major station in Deneva, and none of them have acknowledge my contact signal. There should be a response, since they reported to us only an hour ago, saying they were ready to receive us."

"Fuck," he breathed. "Try GSK783.3."

"That's a subspace ID for a private transmitter," Nyota frowned.

"Yup, I know that too. Try it anyway. Evaluation, Spock?"

"Unknown, captain. Most records suggest that the overall pattern of mass insanity is extended over space of years or decades rather than an hour. Archeologists that study the Ta-Cortilos system of ancient civilizations suggest that the descent into madness was slow. The decay of those civilizations occurred over a period of 70 years. Levinius 5 was even longer—approximately 200 years. Sigmin and Ingriam-B patterns are disturbing, however, as evidence suggests that the period was as brief as six years."

"But next up is Deneva. Bones? Have any other theories we didn't talk about? You've got that look on your face."

"I'm still not convinced. There's no hard medical or scientific evidence that this thing's a disease, Jim, or that it somehow jumps between planets. These planets aren't exactly ducks in a row."

"But they are clustered together, with Ta-Cortilos near the center."

"Keptan! There is a ship on our sensors, heading directly into the sun! It is burning up."

"Plot an interception course Sulu give me warp 8 Uhura contact that ship Spock?"

"The ship is a one man vessel, of foreign manufacture. It is not out of control, and its course is plotted straight for the sun."

"Scotty, tractor beam?"

"Out of range, Jim."

"Captain! I've made contact."

"Denevan ship, this is the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. Reverse your course, we'll help you out. Just reverse course now. Acknowledge."

"Captain, we're getting really close here," Lt. Sulu said, his hand steady at the helm.

"Keep closing in. Uhura, hail him again."

"Done, sir."

"Denevan ship, reverse your course. Damnit, get the fuck outta there before you burn up!"

"Outer hull temperature 480 degrees and rising," I watched the ships readings steadily climb.

"He's too close, captain," Lt. Sulu said, eyes focused on his screen.

"So are we. Outer hull temperature 1000 degrees and rising."

"Keptan, the sun's gravitational force is making us to be accelerating—"

"Look!" Nyota shouted. The bridge went silent as she put on the view screen the image of a wild, frenzied man with bloodshot eyes. The expression on his face was that of pure joy and total peace.

"It's gone," he murmured in a hoarse voice. "It's finally gone! I'm free."

Blazing white light filled the screen as the ship entered its final stages of burn up. The connection terminated. For a moment, all was silent.

"Sulu reverse course back to Deneva."

For a few tense moments, the ship wavered and the hull buckled as the sun's gravity exerted its force.

"Sulu..."

"Getting there, captain," he said, voice calm. "Ready, Pasha?"

"When you are."

"On my count. Three, two, one, now."

The ship broke away from the sun and hurtled through space. There was a smattering of applause as Lt. Sulu brought the ship back to sublight speed and Lt. Chekov inputted a course to Deneva.

"Well, we can cross _that_ off our list of things to do. Number one—almost get sucked into a black hole. Number two—almost fly into the sun."

The bridge crew laughed.

"Very funny, Jim. But why did that ship fly into the sun in the first place?"

Jim's eyes harded. "You tell me, Bones."

Leonard scowled.

"There is one possibility," I spoke. "Mass insanity has already reached Deneva and infected its population."

The captain's expression closed off. He looked at the image of Deneva before him on the view screen. Leonard McCoy looked at Jim, then me, then back at Jim again.

"Captain, I'm not having any luck with the private transmitter you want me to contact."

"Keep trying."

Something dawned on Dr. McCoy. "Jim," he said urgently. "Jim."

"What?"

"Your brother George and his wife, aren't they stationed on this planet?"

"Captain? I've made contact with your private transmission."

"Put it on the screen."

"Visual has been disabled, sir. There's only audio."

"Just give me what you've got."

Silence fell on the bridge once more.

"Jim?"

"George!"

"Get out of here, get away. I don't have much time—" the voice of a man screamed in utter agony.

The captain paled.

"They know. They're here," he gasped. "Don't come here, whatever you do, don't come here. It's an outbreak, came from—" another scream. "Sting—invades fast and now they're con—troll—ing—" he moaned. "Stay away," he rasped.

The connection terminated.

"Uhura," the captain demanded.

"Contact broken, sir."

"Then _fucking_ reestablish."

"It's not possible—"

"I'm not interested in your excuses. Reestablish contact with that fucking transmitter."

"I'm afraid that's not possible at the moment, Jim," Nyota said in placid tones. "They stopped broadcasting, and they do not acknowledge our contact signal."

I stepped towards the captain. "Jim."

He exhaled, calming himself. "Keep trying to raise them."

"Jim—" Dr. McCoy began.

"Yeah, you were right. That was George. His wife's down there too. She's pregnant with their first kid." Jim paused a moment, then sat up. The change between his emotional states was remarkable. "Sulu, we're gonna go in orbit over that planet. Be ready at any moment to warp out. Bones, Spock, you're coming with me. Get a few teams together, take all precautions necessary. Scotty, you've got the conn."

"Permission to speak, captain."

"Granted, Mr. Scott."

"I'd like to lead an Away Team. I'm familiar with Deneva, worked as engineer advisor a few years back on th'freighting runs here. We stopped by ta pick up supplies to take to the asteroid belts for th'miners, and bring their cargo here to be processed."

"All right, Scotty, pick your team. Be careful."

"Never," he grinned roguishly.

The line had its intended effect. Jim gave a small smile. He turned to me.

"You aren't saying anything. That means nothing weird's showing up on the sensor scans, which means it could be anything. A microbe? A virus?"

"Your brother referred to a 'they,' captain, which implies that the creatures are at least visible to the human eye."

"But he said they invaded too."

"There was mention of a sting—this may refer to a weapon or a part of their body, by which they infect their victims. It is still clear that 'they' are visible to the naked eye."

"But then why don't they show up on the scans if they're that big?"

"Unknown."

"And everyone's still there."

"Activity seems to be reduced. The capital, a large metropolis, is quiescent. If all Denevans are all similarly incapacitated by that degree of pain, it is not surprising that there is little motion on the planet."

"Okay. Everyone got that? Beam down in four minutes."

--

"Jim?! What're you doing here? I told you to stay away!" George Samuel Kirk gasped, then convulsed.

"Bones, diagnosis."

"Like all the others we've come across, Jim. His nervous system is all over the charts. There's some foreign substance in there, probably the thing inflicting the pain."

George moaned. "Aurelan. Get Aurelan. She needs help. The baby. So much," he arced back, a tortured expression on his face. "They didn't get her. Find Aurelan."

"Damnit," Dr. McCoy cursed. "I'm gonna sedate him, or he's gonna die. Christ, I'm surprised he hasn't gone into shock or cardiac arrest from the amount of pain he's feeling."

"Spock, help me find Aurelan. She should be somewhere in this house."

There was a scream. "They're here, they're here! Please, take them away! They're here!"

Jim sprinted in the direction of the voice, followed by myself and Leonard McCoy. A woman in her second trimester was crumpled in the corner of a room, trembling and sobbing hysterically. Jim reached her first and he impulsively took her in his arms, repeating over and over "I'm here, Aurelan, I'm here, you're safe." Dr. McCoy immediately sedated her, then took her readings.

"Diagnosis?"

"I'm going to have to keep her under, Jim. It's too risky for the baby for her to be awake and consciously aware of that much pain. I've gotta get them back to the ship, both Aurelan and George. There aint much I can do for 'em here."

"Alright, beam up."

"Jim, I want you to be there when George wakes up."

"Fine, I'll be there."

Dr. McCoy left to prepare George and Aurelan for beam up to the ship.

"Captain—"

He shook his head. "Not now. We've gotta focus. What'dya think she meant. Did you see anything in that room?"

"Negative, captain. Whatever 'they' are, they were either absorbed by Aurelan, escaped, or are still in the room, hiding."

"Jim, ya comin'?," Dr. McCoy's voice came from the other room.

"Find out what you can, Spock, coordinate between the landing parties. I'll be back, and I want some answers. And don't do anything stupid, like get yourself infected. That's the last thing I need, my right hand cut off."

--

"I'm back. Report."

"Your brother?"

"I got some answers. He almost died giving them to me, but Bones's got him sedated. We're not going to be interrogating him anytime soon. Report."

"I sent two of the landing parties to scour the records of the space docks of Deneva. The fact that the planet had responded normally not one hour before we arrived signified to me that the disease either reached the planet in the interval between our transmission and our arrival, or that the disease has been incubating and is now rapidly spreading throughout the population.

"Our search revealed the existence of one unidentified ship landing on the planet several months ago, likely from the Ingriam-B system though that data is not conclusive. The crew of that ship beamed down to another Denevan city, quite far from the capital, and that is where the disease took hold. Local news channels mention this mystery disease often, though they suspected that it was related to a corruption in the food supply, not an alien agent.

"The disease only recently began to spread exponentially. At this point, we believe that the entire population of the Deneva has been infected. Those people we have encountered exhibited signs of being under a form of mind control or extreme torture."

"And the rest of the landing parties?"

"I sent them to search for any survivors left unharmed. We have found a select few individuals and questioned them about their lifestyle, but could find few commonalities. Superficially, 60% of the uninfected spend the majority of their time outdoors."

"That's no help."

"We cannot disregard data, Jim."

"Is that all you found? No one saw these aliens?"

"Mr. Scott has a report, captain."

"Aye," Mr. Scott projected a holographic image of the city from his tricorder. "Mr. Spock decided, very logically, that since I know this city, I'd have the highest chance o'guessin' where these things are hidin'. Now, we didn't catch sight of them, but the lads and ladies all heard a strange buzzin' noise in certain sectors of the city. We compiled the data, and the perimeters are bunched t'gether in these spots here" he pointed to the marked areas. "Now, t'be honest captain, unless things've changed in Deneva, these spots aren't known for their friendliness and cleanliness, if ya know what I mean."

"What, is this some kinda red light district?"

"You could call 'em that. Lotsa nice dark places for somethin' ta hide."

"What about these lines here? You've got the whole thing marked."

"Mass transit system. It'sa system of underground tunnels, very advanced in its day. Deneva was founded, a century ago Mr. Spock? But we've got some lovely dark spaces here again, and it's a perfect way for a disease ta spread. Ya take advantage of people constantly bustlin' around, spreadin' germs or viruses or what have you.

"The way I see it, this disease, or alien, has intelligence, assumin' the noise produced can be correlated to these critters. It likes, or needs, darkness, but that limits choices and movement, until yeh hit a gold mine like these tube tunnels here.

"We didn't want ta take any unnecessary risks and none of us fancy madness as a stroll in the park, so we mapped these points and reconvened. It's your decision captain."

Jim considered the map. "I think we can safely assume that the buzzing noise is produced by an alien. You said that it always sounds the same?"

"Yes sir."

"And you've never heard anything like it when you were here."

Mr. Scott nodded.

"Okay. We're not going to into this sprawling tunnel system—that's just like _asking_ to get infected. I'm not walking into any insanity traps. We'll go here—do the dots indicate the volume of the noise?"

"That's right. It was almost deafenin' when we were near the tube stations."

"You measured in decibels?"

"Aye."

"So this one here, that's the lowest volume you guys picked up, which should mean the least number of aliens."

"If all our assumptions hold."

"Right. How big would you say this area is? How many teams do we need?"

"It's a buildin'. Actually, this site is unusual because it's not in the shadier parts o'town. There's several stories, ta it, so each team could search a few floors."

"Sounds good. Have any objections, Spock?"

"Your plan seems reasonable, captain. May I suggest that we take the precaution of ensuring that each floor is well lit? All personnel should be fitted with light torches."

"Good idea. You take care of that. Me and Scotty'll brief the teams about search procedures. Oh, and bring down some hazmat sample kits. You and Bones'll probably wanna study this."

"Agreed, Jim."

"Okay guys. First things first. Phasers set to 'kill.' This thing is mean shit, and we already know it will kill. I'm not losing anyone to this madness, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

--

"What _are_ these things?"

"Incredible. Not only should it have been destroyed by our phasers, it does not even register on my tricorder. Mr. Scott, what are your readings?"

"The same. There's absolutely nothing, Jim."

"Captain, they don't even _look_ real. It's as though they're straight from a sci-fi serial."

"Um, ensign? You live in a spaceship."

"But this is just out of this galaxy!"

"Obviously, it is not life as we know or understand it. It exists, and by our observations appears to be alive. It has a will and can act."

"And can bear up under full phaser power," Jim looked around, distinctly unhappy. "Spock, let's forget about collecting one of these. Everything in my gut's telling me to get the fuck outta here."

"The specimen you shot seems disabled, Jim. I do not think it too much a risk to take it as our sample. We must be able to study these in order to understand the mechanism by which it infects civilizations and spreads madness."

"Leave it, Spock. It's too closed in here. Trap, let's move out _now_."

I reluctantly left, the last one as we filed out of the room. Then, my body exploded with blinding pain.

I was vaguely aware that I lost the ability to coordinate the motions of my limbs as I fell down the stairs.

"Spock! Spock!" Jim called.

_pain pain pain pain pain nothing else but pure dazzling all consuming excruciating sensation nerve ends overloading fire scorching cold freezing twining constricting suffocating unending unyielding _breathe

"It's gone. Can ya stand? Spock, are you all right?!"

He's holding me up when all I want to do is crumple into myself and _kroykah let this end let this end there is no pain this is an illusion make it stop i am a vulcan inescapable unbearable torture agony_

"Spock stay with me, stay with me, fuck it! Scotty, get us outta here. Spock, I'm here, you're safe. I'm here. We're gonna get through this, so hold on. Hold on! I'm here."

Light streams through the darkness.


	75. Ch 75

I am no longer aware of my surroundings. I believe I have been sedated. The voices of Leonard McCoy and M'Benga and Nurse Chapel drift, words suspended in water.

The sudden knowledge that this is what slavery feels like I would do anything to end this to be free to stand in the light.

_No._

That is not my voice.

_The light? No. No light. Light is pain, it is burning. The cool darkness, that is good. Yes. That sounds reasonable. Reason. We are reasonable. Stay away from the light. That one, with eyes like the sun. He is dangerous. He is not reasonable. We are reasonable. We need a ship. See? We are reasonable. There is no pain now._

It is not a force, an overbearing will. It is much more insidious than that—a suggestion that seems to come from myself.

_It is reasonable. Struggle? No. Struggling is light. Why struggle when dark is no pain? No pain. Reason is no pain. The sun is pain. The sun is unreasonable. It burns and burns in darkness until it is extinguished and all returns to darkness. Darkness is no pain. No pain is reason._

Fallacy. Presence or absence of pain does not equate to what is true and what is false—

_sinking clawing grasping blinding blinding blinding pain _to the point where thoughts dissolve consumed in all encompassing darkness.

_Reason is no pain. No pain is reason. Light is pain. Light is not reason. We need a ship. We need a ship. We need a ship. A ship is no pain. No pain is reason. Our need for a ship is reasonable._

No. _explode implode this is worse than dying death is finite kroykah!_ Your syllogism is false. I will not bend to your will, I will not betray my captain.

It lashes out.

_Reason is no pain no pain is reason. Light is pain. Light is pain. Hate the light and live in darkness. Darkness is no pain. Darkness is reason. Give us his ship give us his ship give us his ship. We are reasonable. No pain is reason._

The invasion of my body is complete. It is no longer my own. Every nerve screams. They play every part of me like an exquisite instrument and it sings. The sound is grotesquely beautiful to them.

_Why struggle? Why fight? Fighting is pain. Reason is no pain. Fighting is not reason. We need a ship. A ship is no pain. No pain is reason. Why continue? We have your body. Give us your mind. Fighting is pain. Light is pain. Darkness is reason. A ship is no pain. Give us his ship._

No. You may have my body, but my mind is my own. I will stand in the light. I will not betray Jim.

I am somewhat prepared for this onslaught, but not prepared enough. My body is rebelling. It cannot take more. _Please give in just this once please so much hurt a world of pain so much hurt yes darkness is reason light is pain please so tired of aching please stop_. I am faced with two enemies—the parasite, and my self.

I do not know if this is a battle I can win.

_No cannot win can never win against the darkness. Get us the ship and we will stop, we are reasonable. Give us his ship and the pain will end. No pain is reason. Fighting is pain. Darkness always wins, darkness is reason. Give us the ship and live in darkness. Live in no pain. Live in reason._

I won't.

_You will._

Darkness. Blinding pain. They break my body. _Please, let it end_.

"Spock!"

My arm pushes Nurse Chapel out of the way. _One objective one reason one end. We will have the ship and live in darkness._

"All decks security alert. Locate and restrain Mr. Spock, he's dangerous. Use phasers on stun if you have to."

Jim!

_He is not reasonable. He is pain, he is light, he is pain. He is dangerous. He is useless. Like the sun burning, he is fighting. Darkness is reason, darkness always wins. We will have this ship and extinguish the light._

My body is attacking Jim, Sulu, Chekov, Scotty, the security personnel. My hands reach out to deliver a nerve pinch to him, but he avoids it. My muscles are tense and coiled and I am lashing out against the crew restraining me. Dr. McCoy is cursing and sedates me and I fight to cry out garbled words.

"Don't! Must—!"

--

Darkness once more. And a moment of silence.

I am alone.

They stripped me of my control. I betrayed my captain. I attacked those who count me a friend. I was willing to do anything to stop the pain.

_We have your body. Give us your mind. Give us his ship. Light burns in darkness for no reason. Light is not reason. Why struggle? Why fight? Why continue? We have your body. Give us your mind. Why burn?_

"What about other stuff? Like love?"

They stripped me of my body. I betrayed my captain. But even now, he stands by my side. That is my place.

_Light is no place. Light is not reason. Darkness is no pain. No pain is reason. He burns and burns and dies and dies. All returns to darkness. Give us your mind, we are reasonable. Why burn?_

I am a Vulcan of the Federation. You may subjugate my body, but you will never conquer my mind. To live is to be free, to be free is to stand in the light.

_Light is pain, it is burning._

True. It is a struggle a fight a fire a sorrow.

"Or this? It doesn't keep you going?"

But it is the only life worth living.


	76. Ch 76

"Dr. McCoy. Captain." I attempted to move myself. "These restraints will no longer be necessary. Nor will your sedatives, Leonard. I am able—" pain jolted through my body "—I am able to return to duty. I apologize for my weakness earlier, for attempting to take control of the ship." The creature is persevering. Breathe in. Out. Control. "I simply did not not understand."

"And what the hell is there to understand, you green blooded hobgoblin?"

"I am a Vulcan, Leonard. Pain is a thing of the mind. The mind can be controlled."

"I thought you'd say something infernal like that!"

"You're only half Vulcan. What about your human half?"

Inhale. "It is proving to be an inconvenience."

Dr. McCoy snorted.

Pain is a thing of the mind. "But it is manageable. The creature, with all its thousands of parts, even now is pressuring me." _your mind your mind we have your body light is pain your mind your mind give us the ship we'll burn you burn you until there is nothing but empty darkness _"But I am resisting."

"Can he control it the way he says, Bones?"

"Damn Vulcan. Who knows, Jim. I know how much pain the creature can inflict on him. But whether he can control it hour to hour, for God knows how long—" he shook his head.

"I have my own will, captain. Let me help."

Jim looked at me, blue eyes blazing.

"I need you, Spock. But we can't take any chances. We'll keep you confined for a little while, and if you can keep in control, we'll take it from there."

Control. Every muscle in my body is clenched. I command myself to relax. A wave of agony washes over me and I cannot help but moan. Breathe in, breathe out. Pain is a thing of the mind.

"My brother. And Aurelan. And every other fucking Denevan. If they're conscious, they go through _that_?"

"Yeah, Jim."

_Burn burn burn burn burn blind blind burn you cannot escape us we are your body you will never be free_

"Help them. I don't care what it takes or costs, just fucking help them."

"We're doin' our best Jim. But you can't forget that there're billions of colonist down there counting on you too, just as much your responsibility. They need your help as much as Spock."

"Don't fucking lecture me. Don't you fucking throw that in my face when you _know_."

"You'll have to deal with it. Spock's not able to keep you in line, so it's my job now. You're a captain of a Starfleet vessel and your first obligation is to your orders, not Spock. And I'll bet my hands that he agrees with me."

Their voices fade as they leave Sickbay.

--

I am a Vulcan. Pain is a thing of the mind.

Initiate, disengage sensory centers.

Attempt— Unable to fulfill command.

Repeat, bypass parasite network— Unable to fulfill command. Disconnecting sensory centers may lead to permanent long term damage.

Override— Warning. Override sequence accepted. You are certain you want to follow this path?

Affirmative.

Status— Unable to complete request. Terran biological pathways interfering. Termination of sensory nodes unfinished.

Sufficient. Systems to be restored at future date— Noted.

I am a Vulcan. There is no pain.

--

It is imperative that we obtain a live specimen to study, if there is to be any probability that a cure might be synthesized. I am already compromised. I am the logical candidate to collect such a sample and bring it back to the _Enterprise_.

"Mr. Spock! I thought yeh were still confined ta Sickbay."

"I was." I head to the transporter station. Do not impede me in attaining my objective.

"Here now. Where do yeh think you're going?"

"I have an errand on the planet's surface. You will beam me down to the same coordinates as before."

"Not likely, Mr. Spock."

"That is an order, Mr. Scott." Do not interfere with my mission. Time passes. Every moment the creature gnaws at my control and the pain intensifies.

"Aye sir, and I'm sorry I have to disobey it. The captain said no one was ta transport down."

My motions are stilted and tired. My muscles ache from the strain of the torture—I perform at Terran speed. I have disabled the first technician, but Mr. Scott eludes my grasp.

"Freeze right there, Mr. Spock, or I'll put yeh ta sleep for sure," he quickly went to a communication terminal. "This is Mr. Scott in the transporter room. Get me the captain."

--

"Spock, I thought I told you to stay in Sickbay."

_Burn_

"Until the pain was gone. It has been discontinued. By me."

"Scotty? What the hell happened here? Why're you waving a phaser at Spock?"

"He said he was transportin' down to the surface, sir. You gave very strict orders that no one was to beam down unless you authorized it, and for good reason! And, well, knowin' Mr. Spock's determination on some things, I thought I'd better hold him here until I got your orders."

"One of the creatures must be captured and analyzed. We did not capitalize on the opportunity when we were planetside, before I was attacked. As my body is already totally infected, I do not believe that the creatures can do more to me."

"Jesus Christ, that's ridiculous Spock! You don't know how these goddamn things work. What if you get stung again and end up _dying_?! We don't know have any records about compounded effects—you could be volunteering for a suicide mission! I don't want my patients running around while some sadistic parasite's torturing their brains out, Vulcan or no."

"I am in complete control of myself, doctor. The fact that I am here, breathing, standing, and speaking rationlly proves that I am capable of carrying out this necessary task."

"Damnit, Spock, I'm a doctor! This doesn't prove anything but the goddamn fact that you're breathing, standing, and still spewing that logic of yours out your ears. You might beam down and collapse immediately!"

"Beam him down," Jim ordered. He had his command mask in place.

"Jim—!"

"I heard everything, Bones. Beam him down. You know he's right—if we have any chance of destroying that thing, we need to study it. Spock, take whatever gear you need, including a phaser, for what it's worth. Regular procedure."

"Thank you, captain."

"Jim, this man is sick. Don't give me any damnable logic about him being the only man for the job."

"I don't have to. We both know he is." Jim gave me a last look. "Scotty, energize."

--

It is calling to others.

_He seeks to destroy he will not see reason. He must be destroyed before he kills us. He will not see reason._

Around me, I could see people staggering out of buildings, struggling against the control of the alien while their bodies were overwhelmed by pain. Some did not fight its will, but sprinted towards me. Others screamed and died, their bodies arching or and contorted by their suffering.

I could not face so many people and their varying degrees of agony, the emotion _please god let it stop please have mercy oh god oh god i'll do anything let it stop_ broadcast loudly.

_He will not see reason! Why fight when we are eroding your control? Why struggle when you cannot win? Why burn in the light when you can live in darkness?_

"Spock? Is everything okay down there? We're getting weird readings. Why're so many people moving around?"

"The creature is able to communicate to its own kind hosted in the bodies of other individuals. I am being attacked."

"_What?_ What're you doing just standing there? Get the fuck out! That's it, I'm fucking beaming you up right now."

"Jim, I have not yet obtained a specimen. If you might stun sections of the population, I believe I will be able to retrieve what is necessary."

"Fine. Take cover somewhere. Sulu? Phasers to stun. Chekov, you better be able to swear on your grandmother's grave that your calculations are right."

Swaths of the attacking population fell unconscious. A few individuals remained standing.

"Can you handle the rest, Spock?"

"Affirmative captain."

There was a slight tremor in my hand as I stunned those remaining. One man was able to dodge all my stuns and finally knocked the phaser out of my hand using his wrench. I was able to nerve pinch him.

Pain coursed from my hand up to my arm. The whole appendage felt as though it had been shocked with a powerful electric charge. Each joint felt raw and bloody, as though someone took a fine knife and carved off every part. It seemed that my muscles were shred to pieces, and my bones shattered.

_You cannot win._

There is no pain.

I devoted all my mental energy to my goal and ignored all else. As long as I have my mind, there is hope that I might be free. That I might be free of this insane creature that drags me into slavery and emptiness.

"You believe in me?" His eyes lit up, even in the darkness of the observation deck.

I collect my specimens.

--

"Captain. I believe you will find this interesting."

Leonard McCoy is frowning at his tricorder. He glares at me.

"Doctor, your medical skills and curiosity are quite admirable, but I assure you I'm quite fine."

He was not fooled. "You might be controlling the pain, Spock. But you're far from all right."

"Unimportant at the moment, Leonard. Please observe."

"Fuck, why didn't I notice before? It looks like—"

"A giant cell. Classic Xeno-IV structure, enormous nucleus of t-hythomine, looks like. Might be different," Dr. McCoy peered at the specimen. "Well I'll be damned. Never thought I'd see something like this in my life. Would ya look at the size of that vacuole? How's it keep itself together? I mean, clearly the cytosol is gelatinous."

"Bones. Focus."

"Huh? Yeah, I'm focused, Jim. You've gotta study the thing first if yah wanna know what's gonna kill it."

"Note the dendrite-like structure protruding from the main body of the cell. I believe it is through this that the creature deposits its material."

"Have any idea what it does, other than cause inhuman amounts of pain?"

"I know exactly what it does, doctor."

The two men looked at me.

"Cells must divide, or replicate itself in some way. This cell is not able, due to its sheer size, to multiply on its own. Therefore, it invades a host, totally dominates it, inserts the necessary material for mitosis, and thus creates more of its own kind. I postulate that I am actually host to a few dozen developing cells. After the cells are ready for separation, they kill their host in the process of splitting apart."

"Why the torture. And why the mind control?"

"It is likely easier to lay the groundwork for mitosis with the full cooperation of the host. Pain is an effective way of persuading the host."

"And the mind control?"

"Once the population of hosts has been depleted, the cells must find others. As their hosts are usually mobile and space-faring, they coerce them to locate new sources, fresh bodies. In this manner, the disease propagates through space."

"How much time do you think you have?"

"Now Jim, this is just a theory. We don't know that's actually what's going on—"

"How. Much. Time."

"Unknown, captain. I am still resisting it, and I believe that might give me more time than the average individual. However, we do not know the average time, so my guess is useless."

"We do know one thing, Jim. From the reports I've been reading, and from what you've told me, the thing hates light."

_Light is pain light is pain light is pain. Darkness darkness darkness BURN pain blind destroy overpower kill him kill him kill him_

I fell to my knees and gasped, my elbows braced against the floor of the lab. Resist the urge to curl into yourself. Resist. Pain is not real. They have no control over me.

"Spock!"

"Jesus Christ. These readings—"

Focus. Control heart rate. Breathing. Work up. I am a Vulcan.

"I am in control, doctor. Allow me a moment to collect myself." I forced myself to rise, every single movement costing me an extraordinary amount of effort. Jim wrapped his arm around my waist, held my arm, and gently pulled me to my feet.

His touch was soft, golden. _I'm here. You're safe. We'll get through this. Just hold on._

I nodded. He let go.

"That Denevan," Jim said quietly, his eyes still trained on me, "that flew into the sun. He said he was free, that he had won. That's the angle we have to work on. These things can't stand light—their hosts can. But somehow, they still can't stand light."

Dr. McCoy looked troubled. "Jim, that man was half insane. We can't conclude that he was telling the truth. I mean, you saw the vid. We can't trust what he was saying—he flew into the sun, for God's sakes."

"We don't have anything better. This is our best shot."

"We might be chasing our tail on this. It's better to analyze the thing and find some method—that old form of chemotherapy, maybe—to find a way to kill off these monstrosities."

"We don't have time. Do it Bones. My orders, my responsibility. You don't have to beat yourself up on this one. I want analysis from your department and all the science labs in an hour."

--

The captain and Dr. McCoy are arguing in the next room.

"I'm sorry, Jim. I've tried everything, from varying radiation to intense heat up to 9000 degrees."

"You're wasting your time. Even Spock can't stand that kind of heat! It has to be something that'll kill the little shit without destroying him!"

"Which happens to be my point. The goddamn thing _won't_ die! Even at temperature and radiation that would burn Spock and your brother to ashes."

"I won't fucking accept that. We've got what, 24 science labs on this ship, all decked out with the best fucking equipment and computers in the galaxy? And you're telling me this thing won't die?"

"Science doesn't work like that, Jim. You can't just follow a hunch and expect it pan out! This stuff takes time, hours of research—"

"We don't have time! My hunches're _always_ right, and this one's gonna work too."

"Just because you want something to be true, doesn't mean that you can make it true, even if it is you, Jim! Last time I checked, you weren't God."

"I'm not going to let him die."

"Captain," Dr. McCoy said, his voice tired and serious. "I understand what you're goin' through. But you're lettin' what you feel for Spock interfere with your ability to make a sound decision."

"No, there's more than just him at stake. My brother, his wife, their kid, the billions of people on that colony. And then next—more planets beyond. There's more at stake than you think there is, Bones. I can't let this spread beyond Deneva."

"Shit, Jim. You can't be serious. You're not actually thinking—"

"Yes, I am. I'm a captain of a Starfleet vessel and my first obligation is to the Federation, not Spock, not my family, not my own personal feelings. This is my decision, and I'll accept all the responsibilty for the consequences. But I'm not going to let more civilizations get ground down to an empty husk of insanity. Even if it means killing Spock, my brother, Aurelan, and those billions of Denevans down there."


	77. Ch 77

"Well?"

"I regret I see no other choice, captain. We already know that these cells have destroyed four civilizations, perhaps more."

"I want it stopped too, Spock. But not at the cost of exterminating over a billion people!"

"Including myself, Leonard. And the captain's brother. It is understandably upsetting. Yet the consequences are far more devastating. Once it spreads past Deneva, there are dozens of Federation colonies beyond and an innumerable number of species at risk. They will all suffer the same end if this is not stopped here."

"The sacrifice of a billion saves a trillion. That's your logic, Spock?"

"Would you have the entire Alpha Quadrant annihilated, Leonard?"

"Shut up, both of you. I won't accept either of those alternatives. I'm not gonna let this spread, and I'm not gonna have the lives of a billion more people on my hands. I want another answer, and I want it fucking now. Give me a third option."

--

Leonard and I walked into the captain's quarters. He was at this computer terminal watching the Denevan fly into the sun over and over again.

"It's gone. It's finally gone! I'm free."

_Light the burning blinding light the burning blinding light the burning blinding light the burning blinding. We will annihilate exterminate destroy obliterate eradicate you in the end. Darkness. Light is pain. You will die in darkness._

My body trembles. Every time I think I have reached the upper limit, this parasite introduces a new bound. I am buckling under the sheer amount of stress I have been subjected to.

Buckling, but not yet broken. I tell myself to fight for another five minutes. Then another five minutes. And another five. Concentrate on counting the seconds. Ignore the exhaustion of my overstimulated nerves. Focus. Control. Keep going.

Lt. Chekov once told me of a story of a prisoner of war who walked his way across the Siberian plain to return home.

"He is hafing five bullets. This was for Second World War, I am sure. He is soldier, so he is hafing five metal bullets, nasing else. Siberia is terrible place, Mr. Spock. It is howling winds and snow as far as the eye can see. There is no end to such a desert, there is no light and no hope. But he is hafing five bullets and he is counting his steps. Left foot, right food, _vperyod_. _Raz, dva, tri, cheteri, pyat, shest, sem._ One, two, three, four, five, six, sewen. Counting to one thousand. And then what does he do? He takes one bullet—he is holding five bullets in his right hand—and he is taking one bullet and puts it in his left hand. And he is counting his steps again. One, two, three, four, five, six, sewen, eight. To one thousand again. And he takes another bullet, and puts it in his left hand. _Yesho raz, yesho raz, yesho raz_. Another time, another time, again and again. He is doing this all across Siberia, counting steps and using five bullets to keep going.

"And he is succeeding. He is going back home, just by five bullets."

"It's gone. It's finally gone! I'm free."

Jim looked up from his terminal. "Report."

"I'm sorry Jim. We've been over it over and over, made every conceivable test."

I stepped forward. "Request your permission to beam down to the planet's surface. I also suggest that your brother and sister-in-law accompany me."

"Request denied."

"Jim, I do not make this request lightly. I do not know how much longer I can hold out against the pain, but I do know what your brother will go through should he regain consciousness. It would be a mercy that he die before he woke."

"Request denied. There's gotta be another answer. Something about the sun that killed that thing before he died. We've only tried two things—heat, and radiation. What other properties does that sun have?"

"It exists physically. It occupies space. It has mass, therefore gravity. It converts matter to energy, which it releases in the form of electromagnetic radiation, heat—"

"Jim, we've all been through this a thousand times."

Jim stared at the image of the Denevan. "It's bright," he said softly.

"What?"

"It's bright. You tried all wavelengths of the electromagnetic spectrum at very high intensities?"

"We've tried all forms of radiation, even ones not emitted by the Denevan sun. We tried ionizing and neutron radiation, and just about every swath of the electromagnetic spectrum that you could imagine."

"You didn't answer my question. What about luminance?"

"It shouldn't matter, Jim. That kind of thing has no bearing—"

"It might. Luminance makes a difference for us and our eyes. It might make a difference for these things, a combination of electromagnetic radiation and luminance."

"Well I can prepare a test tube and put the damn specimen in it, for what it's worth. But I don't think—"

"Good. Do it. Replicate the luminance of the light the Denevan experienced when he said he was free. Can you calculate that?"

"Affirmative, captain. Lt. Chekov has already made those calculations. I will notify the lab technicians to prepare the test chamber."

--

"Woah, that was really dramatic, all that steaming and disintegrating."

_Light the terror burning blinding the fear paralyzing. No no no no no you won't destroy us we'll destroy you first. Light that burns and blinds. You will not win. Light is always consumed by darkness._

"Jim," I said faintly.

He grabbed me, pulling my arm over his shoulder and gripping my torso. _I've got you._

"Get Spock in there."

"Jim, do you know what light that intense will do to anyone's optic nerves?"

"Can you fix it?"

"It's a tricky, extremely experimental surgical procedure."

"Fine. Get Spock in there, or there won't be anything left to operate _on_."

"I've gotta rig up some goggles or something!"

"Does he fucking look like he can wait around for fucking goggles?!"

The creature's coils are all over my body. While I denied it access to my mind, it entrenched itself in my body. I can feel it draining everything from me. Optimal conditions for mitosis have not yet been reached, but it will modify its usual course for the sake of survival. I can feel it preparing to split me open from my ribcage. Breathe in. Breathe out. It is suffocating me.

I am vaguely aware that Jim is carrying me into the chamber. Strangely, I am perspiring and shivering at the same time. The pain is mind blowing. It is the only thing I know, the only thing I am aware of.

Then.

Light. Blazing shining glowing burning blinding.

It is screaming, but I feel release. The tentacles uncoil. My body relaxes. There is no pain, there is no slithering voice. The light drives it all away and my body is slack, utterly spent by the torture I have undergone. My eyes are closed but I can see the light behind my eyelids, white and burning.

With a final shriek, the parasite dies.

It is gone. I am free.

I can feel the light subside around me. I open my eyes.

"Spock, are you all right?"

I turn towards the voice and get up from the chamber chair. My motions are clumsy, but I am free.

"The creature within me is gone. I am free of it, and the pain."

I walk out of the chamber, but then something obstructs my path. I blink to clear my vision.

The realization dawns on me. I turn towards Jim's voice.

"I am also quite blind."

I blink once again to confirm my hypothesis. The bright whiteness of the light is fading to total darkness.

"An equitable trade, doctor. Thank you."

_Light that burns and blinds. You will not win. Light is always consumed by darkness. You will die in darkness._

--

"The extraordinary fact that I am living, when the vast majority of matter in this universe is inanimate and empty, is enough for me to continue."

"What about other stuff? Like love? Or this? It doesn't keep you going?"


	78. Ch 78

I am lying on a biobed for the fifteenth time in a 140 hour period. Dr. McCoy has just finished performing surgery on my eyes. At first, I thought that my inner eyelid would have protected me from the effects of the light treatment, but extensive tests and examinations by Dr. McCoy and M'Benga have revealed that my eyes suffered severe and irrevocable damage at the cellular level.

The procedure he utilized is revolutionary, wholly inspired by the doctor and his frantic but thorough research in the area. We are not 100% confident that I will regain all of my vision, or that it will be restored to its former state. However, tests and models predict that I will make a full recovery with no harmful side effects.

I suggested that after the surgery, I enter a healing trance, but both Dr. McCoy and M'Benga were opposed to the idea. They believe that after the damage my body suffered from the Cellulites, as they have been officially named by Starfleet, would be unwise to divert any resources from its natural healing to accelerate the healing of my eyes. Thus, I have been confined to Sickbay under the orders of the Chief Medical Officer, his deputy, and the captain.

The staff of the Medical Department and Science Departments have, however, been busy constructing chambers and treating all those infected with the intense light. All patients wear protective goggles, so that this unfortunate side effect might be prevented. The captain and the crew of the _Enterprise_ have been preoccupied with this task and are to remain here until Starfleet sends another team of medical professionals. The psychological impact of this event among Terrans will also have to be dealt with.

One of the first to be cured was George Samuel Kirk and his wife, Aurelan. They were both placed in the chamber, heavily sedated. When they woke, their bodies had been weakened by the hold of the Cellulites, but they were otherwise healthy. The child, however, did not survive the ordeal.

I could hear the quiet conversation from my biobed.

"I'm sorry, George. I swear, I woulda done anything I could—"

"Jim," George said, his voice heavy with emotion. "Jim, I thought I was going to die. The pain was unbearable. You did everything you could. I can't ask for more than that."

"But your first baby—"

"I still have Aurelan. She and I—we'll get through this."

"But it's true, what you said. It's fucking true."

"Jim," George's voice was sharp. "Jim, I never meant that. Never. I was angry, I was hurting. It wasn't your fault, none of it was. This wasn't your fault."

"No, you were right. The people close to me always die."

There was silence, then the sound of someone grabbing another. "Jim, listen to me. I've never been the brother I should have been to you, and so my words probably don't carry much weight. But I'm so sorry that I said that. I mean it. None of it was your fault. I don't believe any of the stuff I said."

"You did once."

"I was an idiot. I just wanted to get under your skin. And this isn't your fault, you hear me? You're a hero in the Federation! You've saved more planets than anyone can keep track of, you've made more First Contacts in your first year than any Starfleet captain in the history of the service!

"Mom woulda been real proud of you. And Dad too. And Mark."

Another silence.

Jim murmured something.

"I know it, from the bottom of my heart. And god knows I'm proud of you too. And grateful."

"For what?"

"That you're the stubborn idiot that you are. Any other person would have actually listened to what I said and stayed away, which would have led to a disaster."

"I really am sorry about your baby. Can you tell that to Aurelan?"

"Why don't you tell her yourself? Oh yeah, you weren't able to come to the wedding. Couldn't tear yourself away from the Academy."

"Uh, yeah. Sorry that I blew off your wedding. I shoulda come."

"Nah, it's all right. I was hoping you wouldn't turn up anyway."

"Really?"

"Sort of."

There was an awkward silence.

"Come on, Jim. I'll introduce you to my wife."

"Bridge to Captain Kirk, bridge to Captain Kirk."

"Hold on just a second, George. Let me just take this really quick."

"What is it, Uhura? Landing party having trouble with the machines again?"

"No sir. We've got new orders from Starfleet. They're sending a team to Deneva that should be arriving in five hours. We're to leave for our next mission in seven."

"Seven hours? That gives us barely any time for clean up!"

"I've already started organizing the operation, sir, but I think you should look over the plans I drew up."

"Can't this wait a few seconds?"

"Fifteen minutes. Then we really need you, Jim."

There was a pause in dialog.

"It's all right, Jim, really it is. Your ship needs you."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. I'll just introduce you to Aurelan, and you can get back to your mountain of duties."

"All right. I'll be there in ten, Nyota."

"Acknowledged, captain. Oh and Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"How is he?"

"You haven't been able to visit him?"

"I have, but I've been pulling double shifts, and when I finally get away, he's in surgery or in some exam with Dr. McCoy or sleeping."

"He's doing okay."

I rose from my biobed. I calculated the movements necessary to reach the terminal. There were a few unanticipated obstacles but I overcame them, admittedly with some difficulty.

"Spock! You're out of bed! And walking! Blindfolded?!"

"Spock!" Nyota said, her voice a mixture of relief and joy.

"There are some advantages to an eidetic memory, complete control of one's body, and a mathematically precise mind, captain."

"Holy shit, don't scare me like that."

"Nyota, I am recovering adequately. The doctor has confined me to Sickbay. We are uncertain as to the duration of my confinement, but my health is improving hourly."

"Great. Oh it's so good to see you. I've been trying to catch you while you were awake, but—"

"I will be conscious the next time you visit. I promise you, ndugu."

"Lt. Uhura?" I heard a yeoman from the terminal. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but could you take a look at these?"

"Sorry Spock, I have to go."

"Understood, Nyota. There is no need to apologize."

"I'll see you. I promise. Jim, ten minutes."

"Right. Kirk out." He terminated the connection.

For a moment, I could not orient myself. My telepathy could detect his presence near me, but I did not know which way he was facing, if he was facing me at all. I heard him inhale and exhale.

"Jim?" I closed my hands into fists.

"I'm right here. Need any help? Or wanna use your super memory to get you back."

I hesitated, then answered "assistance would not be unwelcome."

"Okay. How'dya wanna do this?"

I reached out with my right hand. "Where is your left shoulder?"

"A little to the right."

I touched his shoulder blade. I slid my hand up to his shoulder.

"Up a little. Yup, right there. I just walk forward?"

"Affirmative."

"Right. Tell me if I'm goin' too fast or slow."

The distance was quite short. I counted the length and number of my steps, retracing my path in my mind.

"Here. Need any help getting back up—oh, I guess not. Kay. Now don't go wandering the ship halls just to test out that nifty trick of yours. I'll use security restraints if I have to."

"That is unnecessary Jim."

"I'll be back and check up on you later. There's like ten thousand things to do, and it's nine million times more tedious without you."

"I will endeavor to make a speedy recovery."

A pause.

"Jim, I believe your brother is waiting for you."

"Huh? Right. Okay. I'll be back."

Before he left, I felt a ghost of a touch on the bandages covering my eyes.

"So Aurelan! Nice to finally meet you," his voice resounded at the opposite end of the Sickbay.


	79. Ch 79

"I've got Uhura and Sulu alternating as my replacement Firsts. I've started calling them my Seconds. Which is funny, cause there're two of them," he paused. "Yeah, yeah. You would totally be doing that eyebrow thing if they weren't covered by your bandages" Jim laughed.

"Anyway, they're doing okay. Chekov mostly mans the science station. There's a Deltan chick, Ilia, and she manages. I dunno. We all manage. I rotate the guys around. It's kinda crazy, like at the beginning. Personally I think it's a miracle that we haven't run into any trouble. Then again, Starfleet's been giving me a lot of milk runs. Their way of saying 'lets kiss and make up'? Whatever. I'm not complaining."

"You are bored." I did not need to see this, when the fact was evident in Jim's voice.

"What? Nah. Well kind of. But I don't mind getting a breather. I've been keeping myself occupied, busy training up Sulu and secretly making plans to dump more responsibilty on Uhura. I think she's onto me," there is a pause. "I thought Chekov'd have problems being boss of your scientists, but they all like him. They treat him like the kid prodigy he is—it annoys the hell outta him. I can tell. They'll get over it."

"Jim, this is only your third circadian cycle after the completion of my surgery. There is no need for you to sound so despondent."

"Hey, I don't sound despondent. I'm bored, like you said. How much more time until you get those bandages off?"

"Dr. McCoy predicts another seven of your circadian cycles."

"Why can't you just say days?"

"You do not run on a typical 24 hour Terran period."

"Really? I never really noticed. That's kinda neat," I heard some shuffling. "But seven days?"

"Don't complain, Jim. If this'd happened even two years ago, Spock'd be left high and dry with two blind eyes. Seven days aint that long."

"Yeah it is."

"Whatever you say, Jim. Will ya get outta my way? You're interfering with the readings I'm tryin' ta take."

The biobed shifted briefly as Jim jumped from his seat at my side.

"Doctor, Mr. le Guin's waiting for you at bed nine," Nurse Chapel's voice came.

"Got it. Anything special on his charts?"

"Not in particular. He's just feeling a little under the weather today. It might be another case of that bug that's been going around."

"Maybe. Mind if you finish up here? Just take a few more readings, change the bandages, you know the drill."

"Of course, doctor."

I heard the Nurse's quick steps towards my biobed. Jim remained silent, but present. He would notify me if he had to leave.

"Captain, you might not want to stay to watch this."

"Why not?"

"They had to make a few incisions at the side of his eyes. The sutures haven't closed completely yet, and the area still might have a little pus."

"You guys said there wouldn't be any scars!"

"And there won't" she replied, "tilt your head a little please, Mr. Spock, that's right," she began to unwrap my bandages. "Right now it's still healing. I suspect they'll be gone in a day or two."

Her touch was light and quick. The Nurse deftly avoided my psi points as she the last layers of the wrapping came off.

Jim sucked in breath.

Nurse Chapel carefully cleaned my eyes of the medicated gel M'Benga had applied. She worked with a steady hand, slowly and methodically removing any contaminants and bloody material my eyes may have produced. She then covered my eyes again with the proper dressing, making sure that my eyes were thoroughly covered, paying special attention to my eyelids and under-eye. With a final flourish, she placed the last of the inner dressing on my eyes, then wrapped my head with fresh bandages.

"That's it. All done. Painless, right Mr. Spock?" she asked cheerfully. I could feel her eyes examining the covering. She made some adjustments and finishing touches.

"What was that goo you put all over him?"

"A special formula, invented by Leonard," she bustled about. "Actually, this is a new version. I made some changes, tested them in the lab, and it's a slight improvement. It'll take away some of the sting he feels."

"You feel stings? Why don't you ever tell me—or anyone, about this stuff?"

"It is nothing compared to—"

"Oh Mr. Spock, we've already been through this argument," she said, taking my pillow. By the sound, she was fluffing it. "Pain is not just a thing of the mind. It might have helped you to think that while you had that nasty worm wrapped all inside you, but pain's an important indicator, and a doctor needs to know about it. You should've seen Leonard when the tricorder readings showed that Spock's eyes were burning. Like an eruption," she imitated the sound of a volcano.

Jim chuckled despite himself. Nurse Chapel straightened my biobed covers.

"You listen to her. She knows what she's doing," Jim chided.

"I wouldn't go as far as to say that," she laughed. The sound of water pouring. She was refilling my cup. "I just follow the doctor's orders."

"Chapel! Need your help over here!" Leonard hollered. The man truly is exceptionally vociferous.

"Well, that's that. Let me know if you need anything, Mr. Spock. Oh, how silly of me," she said to herself. "You should have told us, Mr. Spock! Really, we're here to help."

Before she left, the Nurse adjusted the biobed temperature to my exact preferences.

Up this point, I had limited my interactions with Nurse Chapel as much as possible. Her feelings for me were undesirable, and I did not want those feelings to increase. My judgment of her was ultimately decided when, under the influence of the Psi 2000 virus, she professed her ardent love and in the process infected me. The associated experience of losing complete control over my emotions did nothing to improve my final opinion of her character.

We constantly came into close quarters simply due to circumstances. I have spent much time in the Sickbay, tracking the recovery of the captain, Leonard, Nyota, and various other personnel. In our meetings following Psi 2000, I studiously avoided her, and she stayed away from me. Nevertheless, it was inevitable that we speak to each other, as duty and the course of events aboard the _Enterprise_ demanded it. Those interactions were curt and brief, marked by tension and strict courtesy.

Almost one Terran year has passed since we embarked from space dock. In that time, I have learned much concerning Terrans. This emotional species constantly changes and grows in different trajectories, like a tree unfolding its branches. Christine Chapel is not the same individual since Psi 2000, nor am I. I have mistaken her character.

In this entire ordeal, she has been nothing but professional, kind, and generous. She is efficient, absorbs new methods quickly, is a talented scientist in her own right, and has a remarkable eye for detail. Her actions, such a adjusting the temperature of my biobed, are typical for all patients visit the Sickbay. She attend to their needs and patiently listens. In many ways, she complements the somewhat frenetic style of Dr. McCoy. There is an easiness to her beside manner that takes away the sterility of the Sickbay.

"She dyed her hair the other day. Did you know that? Well of course not, you can't see," Jim reminded himself. "Nyota helped her and now it's this strawberry blonde. I didn't like it at first, but it kinda grows on ya."


	80. Ch 80

I am not very knowledgeable in the technical dissimilarities between Terran and Vulcan healing. However, there is one significant and obvious environmental difference.

Vulcans heal in isolation. The patient enters into a specific healing trance induced by a physician and when he emerges from the trance, the only individual he is met with is that same physician. After the trance, he is kept in seclusion for a period ranging anywhere from five to thirteen Vulcan days. Those days are spent in intense meditation as he reasserts control over his body. Any distraction, anything that might interfere with his trance or his meditation, is strictly forbidden.

During that time, he eats only raw meal and drinks nothing but water, adhering to the quantities dictated by the healer. Vulcan healing facilities are completely bare, what Terrans might call minimalist. They are designed to promote the sense of separation and complete privacy. Patients never meet or interact with other patients, and it is rare that they will see even another physician. Some healing facilities might have a pool of water or a rock garden to assist in meditation, but there is debate as to whether these truly assist the patient in their mental recovery, or if they are harmful disturbance to the monotonous balance of the setting. Vulcan healing centers are filled with silence. Most communication is conducted by means of telepathy.

Vulcan medicine is strictly divided into two disciplines. That majority of Vulcans who choose healing as their vocation learn to heal the mind and heal the body through the mind. Medicine related to the body is called surgery. Surgery on a Vulcan is rare, as most maladies can be dealt with under the guidance of a healer. Even after surgery, however, a Vulcan attends a healing session with physicians and goes through a trance, isolation, and meditation.

At the end of the necessary interval, he returns to his daily life as though there were no interrruption. His absence and his session with the healers is never discussed. He had already notified in advance all those in his acquaintance of his absence. When he returns, they already know the reason he was not in attendance of his duties and therefore do not question it. It is not logical to ask after what one already knows. Nor do they inquire after his health or his time during the healing session. Clearly if he has been released by the doctors, his body and mind are at the acceptable standards of health. Clearly his healing session was successful if he has been released.

It is not so with Terrans. Terrans abhor the idea of healing in isolation. Studies have been published that show a positive correlation between the emotional state of Terrans and rate of recovery. For Terrans, as with all aspects of their life, healing is an intensely emotional matter. Those that are close to the patient gather around him in a show of support. They draw near and desire to share the experience, and Terran hospitals allow them to do so. The typical medical facility on Terra has visiting hours and special holding areas dedicated to those waiting for whatever news the doctor brings. Terran hospitals are filled with movement, the coming and going of visitors, doctors, nurses, administrators, paramedics, maintenance personnel. At any given moment some striking scene is taking place, the feelings running the full gamut of Terran emotion.

Terran doctors rarely have telepathic or empathic capabilities. They learn of the physical condition of their patient through tricorder readings. Despite this, I find that every doctor asks completely redundant questions. They consistently repeat these same sentences: "how're you feeling?" "is everything okay?" "can I help?" "just tell us if you need anything" "do you feel all right?" "is anything bothering you?" "do you feel better?" "is it painful?" "glad to know that you're feeling okay" "how do you feel this morning?" "we hope you get better soon". All of these statements are centered around the physical condition of the patient, but the message conveys an emotion.

The Sickbay on the _Enterprise_ is no exception, especially with Dr. Leonard McCoy as the Chief Medical Officer. Leonard runs things in a distinctly Terran manner. Recalling my memories of the Sickbay layout, there are several ways he has changed the original Starfleet layout. He has chosen to arrange the biobeds in pairs, so that patients might have a companion. He insisted that Mr. Scott install an advanced replicator system so that patients might obtain food at their own convenience if their treatment allows it, or so that he may program meals with specific nutritional value that closely corresponds with his patient's preferences. He has converted the room meant to be his office into an all purpose medical room and moved his desk out in the open. He and the Medical Department have personalized the space by posting pictures of smiling, recovering patients, notes of thanks, pressed flowers, and miscellaneous objects.

He mentioned that he had a shelf of e-book collections, old 2-D videogames, and even a small stuffed bear, if I should be so inclined to use these objects. I am told the bear's name is Theodore, or Teddy. Leonard also informed me that there is also a biobed with Jim's name on it. He had Mr. Scott engrave it into the frame. He threatened to do the same for me, as my visits to the Sickbay have been increasing of late.

Since the ordeal on Deneva, I have received an inordinate number of visitors from all departments. The phrases above have been repeated innumerably. Some visitors even went through the trouble of obtaining fresh floral arrangements, which Nyota tells me are quite beautiful. They come attached with cards that she opens and reads, which once again say some variant of "get well soon" "wishing you a speedy recovery" "thinking of you as you get better". This practice absolutely perplexed me. I am temporarily blinded. Even still, the issue of my lack of sight aside, what use are flowers and cards? How can they possibly aid the body in repairing the damage to its cells?

"It's not that we think these flowers will help you in the physical process of healing, Spock," Nyota explained. "They're meant to show that people care. The crew really appreciate what you did, putting your life on the line to stop that alien disease. They want to let you know that you're not alone and that they're thinking of you. You've been there for them time and again when some crisis comes up. Now they want to be there for you too."

"I acted out of duty, not out of some misguided notion of sympathy. I would conduct myself in the same manner whether they give me these extravagant botanical objects or not. I am Vulcan."

"Spock, don't be mean about it. These feelings are sincere, and so are the gifts. Emotions might not mean much to Vulcans, but they mean a lot to humans. It's the thought that counts."

"That is also a statement based on emotion."

Nyota shifted on the biobed. "Okay, I don't know what's gotten into you today, but that was uncalled for. What's wrong."

"Nothing it out of order. I simply do not understand the Terran compulsion to pour out emotions in this useless manner. These flowers are a waste of resources and these visits are a waste of time."

There was a long silence.

"This has to do with the _Narada_, doesn't it," Nyota said quietly.

I did not reply.

"It does. After everything happened, people sent so much stuff, letters and mail dripping with sentiment. They had vigils and ceremonies and they cried for the loss of Vulcan. I remember. And I remember you hated it.

"Everyone you met, they offered their sympathies and said it was a shame. I didn't miss the way your eyes hardened even as you nodded and politely thanked them. They gave their feelings, and you saw how easy it was for them to throw away words and emotions, to offer fake compassion. They grieved, but in truth they didn't. They grieved because it was polite, because they were embarrassed, not because they felt the loss like a tear in their soul. I watched you struggle to suppress your grief while everyone around you carelessly talked about their sorrow and the tragedy. And I could see how you hated them for it.

"All humans who experience real grief go through the same feelings, you know. They feel like their heart is breaking in two and the sorrow presses on their chest so much that they can't speak, and can't even breathe. Yet people go to the funeral and flounder with their words. Language fails, and even our emotion fails. It is a part of being human.

"I see where you're coming from with this. You think all of this emotion is fake too. You think they're not sincere when they say these things. Maybe they are, and maybe they aren't. I can't promise you that all of these people really mean what they say they feel, but I can promise you that among the group, there are those who are being completely honest and genuine."

"How can you give me such a promise, ndugu? You do not know their minds."

"I can give you that promise because these people have served with you. They respect and admire you. They have worked with you for almost a year, and they know you. Perhaps not completely, but they know you better than the strangers who shed empty tears for the death of your planet. They've come to care for you, and they want to help.

"It is unkind of you to spurn them and despise their efforts," she said softly, grief tinging her voice.

She embraced me gently. My arms went around her torso and I leaned into her body. She took one hand and cradled my head.

"It's all right," she soothed. "We're here for you. You've been so used to helping yourself, you don't know how to accept help from others. But we're here for you, Spock. Let us help. _Mficha uchi hazai__._"

I disentangled myself. "Nyota, your proverb is completely incomprehensible to me. One who hides her nakedness cannot give birth?"

She laughed. "It means you should let us know if you have any troubles, no matter how shameful, no matter how embarrassing or terrible. We're your friends. We want to help, but you have to tell us first. We can't help you if we don't even know that there's something bothering you. That's what communication is for—the promise that we'll meet you halfway, if you'll bridge the other half of the distance."

I reengaged myself in her embrace and rested my head on her shoulder. Nyota absently rubbed circles into my back. We sat for a while in silence.

"Do you feel better?"

I nodded.

"Good. I have to go catch a few hours of sleep before I report back on the bridge, but I'll be back during lunchtime."

She straightened my covers. I heard the sound of various objects being moved and water being poured—Nyota was tidying and watering the flowers. After she was done, she gave me a light kiss on the cheek.

"I'll see you later."

And she exited. A few minutes later, some more visitors came.

The rate of visits per eight hour shifts has decreased since the beginning. Now my visitors are those who come regularly. They include Dr. Lattimer, Dr. Rhee, Dr. McAnnallys, Dr. Perez-Zapatero, Dr. Onyejekwe, Dr. Tsvangira, Lt. Condor, Lt. Xi, Lt. Connors, Ensign Zajac, Yeoman Nguyen, Yeoman Adamowicz, Engineer Vasquez, Engineer Karhidish, and Engineer Yamamoto. Of course, the captain and Nyota visit me constantly. Leonard, M'Benga, and Nurse Chapel are always within reach here in the Sickbay. Pavel, Sulu, and Scotty visit me habitually as well.

Always, they say the same thing. "How do you feel? Any better?" "I've got to get back, but take care of yourself." "Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."


	81. Ch 81

"Hey Commander. How are things?"

"My healing is progressing at an acceptable pace. Dr. McCoy and M'Benga are confident that I will make a complete recovery."

"Jim'll be ecstatic to hear that."

"Indeed, Lt. Sulu."

"You don't have to tack on the 'lieutenant' part every time. Actually, I've been meaning to ask. Can I just call you Spock? And could you just call me Sulu? Everyone calls me that, and I kind of prefer it."

Sulu's voice was even and unassuming.

"I have no objections to your proposal, Sulu."

"Great."

There was a shuffling sound.

"You must get really bored, just sitting around."

"Actually, much of my time has been occupied. I have received several visitors, like yourself."

"Cool. Yeah that's great," he paused. "I was just wondering, do you know how to real Braille?"

"I am not familiar with it."

"It's a system of raised letters, so that the blind can read and write. My sister works at a school for the blind, that's how I know about it."

"I was not aware that you had a sibling."

"Yeah, two older sisters. Me and my dad were the only sane people in a house full of crazy women," he said, amusement tinging his voice.

"Is your sister also visually disabled?"

"The oldest one, Sayomi. She was actually born blind, but the doctors were able to somehow salvage her optic nerves and get her some sight. For all intents and purposes, she's still legally blind though. Sayomi prefers to have her sensor net or cane with her all the time.

"I brought a book. Thought you might like to listen to me read it—I'd read for her back when we were kids."

"What is the title?"

"Um, well, I don't have that many books. I brought a classic though. Cervantes. He's brilliant."

"I have not heard of it."

"Oh, you've gotta read it then. I'll start you off.

"Desocupado lector: sin juramento me podrás creer que quisiera que este libro, como hijo del entendimiento, fuera el más hermoso, el más gallardo y más discreto que pudiera imaginarse. Pero no he podido yo contravenir al orden de naturaleza; que en ella cada cosa engendra su semejante. Y así, ¿qué podrá engendrar el estéril y mal cultivado ingenio mío, sino la historia de un hijo seco, avellanado, antojadizo y lleno de pensamientos varios y nunca imaginados de otro alguno, bien como quien se engendró en una cárcel, donde toda incomodidad tiene su asiento y donde todo triste ruido hace su habitación? El sosiego, el lugar apacible, la amenidad de los campos, la serenidad de los cielos, el murmurar de las fuentes, la quietud del espíritu son grande parte para que las musas más estériles se muestren fecundas y ofrezcan partos al mundo que le colmen de maravilla y de contento. Acontece tener un padre un hijo feo y sin gracia alguna, y el amor que le tiene le pone una venda en los ojos para que no vea sus faltas, antes las juzga por discreciones y lindezas y las cuenta a sus amigos por agudezas y donaires."

I sat back and listened to the rhythmic sound of Sulu's Spanish, telling the convoluted tale of Don Quijote.

--

"En efeto, rematado ya su juicio, vino a dar en el más estraño pensamiento que jamás dio loco en el mundo; y fue que le pareció convenible y necesario, así para el aumento de su honra como para el servicio de su república, hacerse caballero andante, y irse por todo el mundo con sus armas y caballo a buscar las aventuras y a ejercitarse en todo aquello que él había leído que los caballeros andantes se ejercitaban, deshaciendo todo género de agravio, y poniéndose en ocasiones y peligros donde, acabándolos, cobrase eterno nombre y fama."

"Hikaru, you are not jabbering that Spanish book at Mr. Spock, _da_?"

"Just because you don't like _Don Quijote_, doesn't mean that Spock doesn't."

"I am here as relief. _Kstati_, I am warning you, the keptan is in a mood. He is not happy because Ensign Shkqeperi is making some mistake and causing inconwenience on the bridge."

"Got it. Thanks. Same time tomorrow, Spock?"

I nodded. "Your presence and your book are most welcome, Sulu."

"Great. I'll see ya, Pasha."

"_Da, uvidyemsya._ Hikaru, I am his friend, but I am not understanding him," Pavel said as though this were an inevitable fact. "_Kak wui sebya chustvuyetye_, Mr. Spock? How is your condition today?"

"Fine, Mr. Chekov."

"_Otlychno_. Wery good news. And I am hafing exciting things to tell you, Mr. Spock."

"You have completed the calculation?"

"_Tochna._ The calculations are all checked, and I am receiwing mail from the _Interstellar Journal of Spatial Physics_. They are accepting our article! They have forwarded copy to _Nature_ and we are being accepted again! My friends in Russia will be wery jealous. Maybe a little happy, but more jealous. And poor. _Nado zaplatyit menya stolko kreditov_. We are hafing bet to see who is published in interstellar peer rewiewed journal first.

"But I am hafing question" he said without pause. "I was thinking of the problem before I am sleeping, and it comes to me in a dream. What if we are taking the boundary of the surface created? What do you think? Will we be getting interesting results?"

"What the was genus of the knot obtained?"

"That is being the problem. I am not knowing. I am using program and getting answer as genus is six, but it does not seem right. Six is wery high number. I was thinking by Seifert algorithm to find smaller genus, but it is not working."

"I will have to consider the problem when I have regained my sight. However, your proposition is intriguing. We might obtain interesting results, but I am not of the immediate implications of taking the boundary of our surface."

"It was seeming interesting. I am not knowing if it means anything."

"I will think on it, Pavel."

"_Zdorovo._ Now, Sulu is reading you some silly story?"

"I find it enjoyable."

"I am bringing a book too. You will like it wery much, it is Russian. It is classic. I am reading a few theorems before I go to bed every night, like bedtime story. Would you like to be hearing it, Mr. Spock?"

"I have no objections."

"_Hu, togda davai_. The book is called Planimetry, in Federation Standard. I begin with chepter _odin_, _da_?"

"However you should like to proceed, Pavel. I am at your disposal."

It seems to be favorite pastime of Terrans to read books to those they visit in the hospital.

"Геометрические фигуры. Часть пространства, ограниченная со всех сторон, называется геометрическим телом. Геометрическое тело отделяется от окружающего пространства поверхностью. Часть поверхности отделяется от смежной части линией. Часть линии отделяется от смежной части точкой. Геометрическое тело, поверхность, линия, и точка не существуют раздельно. Однако при помощи отвлечения мы можем рассматривать поверхность независимо от геометрического тела, линию—назависимо то поверхности и точку—независимо от линии. При этом поверхность мы должны представить себе не имеющей толщины, линию—не имеющей ни толщины, ни ширины и точку—не имеющей ни длины, не ширины, ни толщины."

--

"What is that boy blatherin' on about, Mr. Spock?"

"He is reading his grade school geometry book, Mr. Scott. I am not very familiar with the Russian language, but it is an intriguing experience."

"I am needing to balance out the forces of Sulu. He is reading Spanish novels about knights to the Commander. I am not wanting his brains to be melting. Theorems are much better stories than any _skazka_."

"The lad's a bit mixed up in the head, isn't he, Mr. Spock?"

"I have no comment."

"Well, I'm here ta join yeh both. I've brought a nice sandwich here—vegan, so don't yeh worry Mr. Spock. I suppose it's not technically a sandwich, is it? More like a wrap. I thought it's be a sight easier than managing two slices of bread and everythin' in between. It's got some curried cauliflower in there, rice—I had one myself the other day.

"Here, let me unwrap that for yeh. That's it, very convenient, isn't it? Tasty too. I've got a reuben here, can't go wrong with nice stack of beef and cheese. That hits the spot right there," Mr. Scott said, his mouth full. "Well pull up a chair and set down or go run and find yourself a sandwich or whatever it is you Russians eat. We'll be right here."

"_Nyet, nyet_, I will go back to computer lab and work on problem. And I am hafing conference with Science Department. I am not know what I will be saying, but the keptan will be there."

"It is a routine conference to present results from projects. You will not be required to make any executive decisions."

"That is good. I am not knowing what to do with so many old men patting my back. You cannot say no to a grandfather who is father of modern xenoecophysiology. Sulu is knowing all about this."

"Dr. Fominu's reputation certainly precedes him. You will find, however, that he is quite, as Terrans say, 'down to earth.' It is the reason why he still participates avidly in field missions and gathers data, rather than accepting an emeritus position at one of the many prestigious universities that have made him such an offer."

"All right, lads, enough talk about science. I love my job too, but yeh don't hear me goin' on about the engines. Though if you wanted ta know—"

"You point is quite clear, Mr. Scott."

He laughed, a full and rich sound.

"_Poka, rebyata_. I am seeing you later."

"See ya in the transporter room, Chekov. So Mr. Spock, how'ya find yourself today? Feelin' any better? Yeh know, I heard the funniest joke the other day. I just about cried. One of the lads in my department told it ta me. Wouldya like ta hear it?"

Why not. Terrans continue to surprise me every day.

"That's a good man! I knew you always had a keen appreciation for humor, Mr. Spock. Now, it goes like this. Yeh might've heard it before. Anyway.

"Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson were goin' campin'. I don't know where, let's say they were takin' a nice little trip in the country somewhere. It's not important.

"They pitch their tent under the stars and go to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, Holmes wakes Watson. 'Watson, look up at the sky and tell me, what do you see?'" Mr. Scott imitated a British accent. He was not quite successful.

"Watson replies, 'Why, I see millions and millions of stars, Holmes old fellow.'

"Sherlock Holmes answers, 'And what do you deduce from that?'

"Watson thinks for a bit. He's determined to give Holmes an answer that's going to hit it right on the head. For once in his life, he won't hear his friend say somethin' along the lines of 'elementary, my dear Watson,' the phrase is getting a bit stale. He thinks and thinks and he can feel his brain spinnin' its gears and the grey cells chuggin' away. Eureka! He has an epiphany. This is surely the answer Holmes is looking for.

"'It's quite simple, Holmes. If there are millions of stars, and if even a few of those have planets, then it's quite likely that there are some planet that resemble earth, simply due to the laws of probability. And if there are a few earth like extraterrestrial bodies, then we might also speculate the existence of life on those planets.' Haha! he thinks, triumphant. I've got him now. He give himself a little pat on the back. Well done, Watson old boy, well done.

"But Holmes says, 'I'm afraid I have no idea what you're going on about, my dear Watson. The fact that we are able to see the stars simply means that someone has stolen our tent.'"

Leonard burst out laughing at the other end of the Sickbay, joined by the voices of Nurse Chapel and M'Benga.

I could not see, but I could feel the glow of their happiness. And for the first time, intentionally allowed myself to mentally join in their laughter, rather than stand apart.


	82. Ch 82

"I would choose to be deaf."

"Really? You'd rather be deaf than blind?"

"I'm a pilot. I could probably manage to keep flying if I couldn't hear, but I have to have my eyes. And I already kinda know what it's like to be blind. If there were one thing I could give to anyone, I'd give sight back to my sister," Sulu paused, his voice steady. "She's never seen the sky."

"What about you, Scotty?"

"Och, that's a tough one yeh're askin' captain. I need ta be able ta see what I'm doin', but hearin's just as important. I think I might go a wee bit loopy if I couldn't hear our Silver Lady singin' her sweet song."

"You'd be able to feel the rhythm and vibration of the ship, though," Nyota pointed out.

"Aye, that's true. I think they're both about tied for me. Now, if yeh told me I had ta choose between those things and my hands, well, that's no contest. Take my sight, take my hearing, take whatever yeh need, but let me keep my hands."

"Amen to that."

I could feel Jim look at Dr. McCoy quizzically.

"Jim, modern medicine can fix—not perfectly, but it's better than nothin'—the stuff you're talkin' about. But we still don't have a way to regrow whole limbs. The best we've got're prosthetics and robotic assistance devices. None of them really replicate the million things that our hands do naturally."

"I think I'd rather be blind than deaf."

"Well, that goes without saying, doesn't it? You're the communications officer. Yeh haveta listen ta the subspace transmissions."

"No, not really. My choice has little to do with Starfleet."

"Then what?" Jim asked.

"I think I could live the rest of my life without seeing color. It'd be hard, but I think I could do it. Never again seeing a sunset or a sunrise, never seeing the faces of the people I love."

"When you put it that way dear, blindness sounds terrifying," Nurse Chapel remarked.

"Not as terrifying as a life without sound. Never again hearing a song? A life without music? I think I'd rather die."

"Nyota, there is no need for hyperbolic statements."

"I'm serious, Spock. Of all the things in the universe, music's the thing that reaches down and touches my soul. I love to sing, I love hearing the songs of others. I don't look at the stars, I listen to them."

"It is job related! Scotty was right!"

I could practically hear Nyota roll her eyes. There was a sound of a light slap.

"What was that for?"

"For being an idiot, that's what, Jim," Leonard laughed. "And what about you, Chekov. Russians got any preference either way?"

"I am never thinking about this question before. But maybe deafness is better. I am not knowing. It is hard to be navigator without eyes. If Hikaru is deaf, maybe it is better that I am being blind. He will be reading nonsense stories to me and I will be writing physics equations on the wall like a prophet," he laughed. "We will be making each other crazy, and life will be interesting. It is not a bad way to be."

"Why're you asking us these questions, captain? Some sorta under the table psych eval?"

"What? No. Just curious. And I learn things. Like I didn't know you had a blind sister."

"How is Sayomi? And Katsu? Goodness, I haven't seen them in ages!" Nurse Chapel exclaimed.

"Good, at least since the last transmission we had. Probably fine."

"Oh, I've been so busy I haven't gotten a chance to talk to them. I'll have to do that first thing when I get some free time."

"Yeah, I'm sure they'd love it, especially Katsu. She's finished her residency, thinking about applying for Starfleet Medical."

"How do you know Sulu's sisters, Chris?"

"Oh, we were best friends back when I lived in San Fransisco. My family and Sulu's family were next door?"

"Across the street."

"We were neighbors. I came over and played with the two girls practically every day. We chased Sulu out of the room—he was always charging in with a sword or somesuch while we were playing 'house' or with our dolls."

Sulu laughed. "Good times."

"But of course, we moved away. It must be some fifteen years since I've been in contact with them. And now we serve on the same ship."

"Small world," Leonard said.

"I can drink ta that," Scotty replied. "What about you, Jim, since yeh brought the subject up. What can you live without?"

"What can I live without?"

"Yup."

"Well, a lotta things. I could live without Komack having a stick shoved up his ass, for example."

"Stop hedging, Jim."

"I dunno. I just asked the question cause it popped in my mind, I don't have an answer. Starfleet doesn't take captains with disabilties, so I'd like to keep everything, if you know what I mean." Jim paused. "What can you live without, Spock?"

"Whatever you do not need, captain."

"That's funny. I was gonna say the same thing about you."

For reasons unknown, there was a pause in conversation.

"Well I'll be damned if this aint the most ironic thing I've ever seen. It's like a goddamn movie."

"Or one of those Korean dramas. You know the ones I'm talking about, Chris?"

She laughed. "I remember watching them with Katsu, and Sayomi would demand explanations of the action. Oh, they were real heartbreakers."

"What the hell are you guys talking about?"

"We are imposing Prime Directif on ourselves, keptan. No interference."

"Interference with _what_?"

"Nothing. No interference with nothing at all."

"You guys are _all_ in on this? Spock, are you in on this too?"

"Negative, captain. I am in the dark as well."

"5 out of 10 for that pun. You're getting better with your wordplay, but that wasn't your best."

"I did not realize you were keeping track of my proficiency, Jim."

"Someone's gotta keep you straight."

Several made sounds of exaggerated coughing. Leonard snorted. I heard him mutter under his breath, "that's the last thing you wanna be doing, Jim."

"What was that?"

"Nothing. I'm gonna go do something. Growl at the new replacements you've picked up. I can't watch this anymore."

"Watch what? Damnit, when did you guys all gang up on us?"

"Well, we are hafing deadline. After certain time, we will be breaking Prime Directif."

"We haven't really decided when."

"Will you guys stop talking in riddles and just fucking explain to me, in plain Standard, what is going on? Is there some sort of secret mission Starfleet's given you all? Am I not supposed to know about it? Because if I'm not supposed to know about it, you guys suck at keeping secrets."

No one replied. By the sound of Jim's frustration and the emotions that radiated from his form, he was exasperated.

"Fine, keep your secret. Me and Spock'll figure it out. Right Spock?"

"I believe the secret is related to us, Jim."

"We'll still figure it out."

"That's the idea," Sulu said cryptically.

There was another pause.

"You guys are really lucky that Spock can't see right now, or you'd be majorly fucked."

"Change up the pronouns a bit and the verb tense of the two main verbs, and I'd agree with that statement."

"That didn't make any sense."

"Denial looks just as bad on you as it does on Spock, Jim. _Mapenzi ni kikohozi, hayawezi kufichika_."

"I don't speak whatever it is you just said."

"Figure it out with Spock. He knows what I said."

Another pause. "Forget it. I don't wanna know."

--

Love is like a cough—it cannot be concealed.


	83. Ch 83

I looked at myself in the mirror.

"They are only temporary. It will correct your vision while your eyes continue to heal."

"You are certain that these are necessary?" I regarded the object before me dubiously.

"Yessir. Like I said, it is a temporary solution. I believe that in a few days, your eyes will be completely healed and you will have no need for them at all."

"Thank you, M'Benga."

"You are most certainly welcome, Spock. Come to me if you have any difficulties. We will also have to adjust the lenses daily, as your eyes will need them less and less."

"Of course."

"Well, Spock. You are clear for duty," he smiled and signed the datapad.

I went back to my quarters. I regarded my reflection, turning my head from left to right.

It is what it is.

I attended to my hygenic needs, dressed, and went to report for duty.

There was no one in the turbolift as I entered. Everyone on the bridge was preoccupied at their stations as I exited and the lift doors closed behind me. I relieved the officer on duty at the science station and sat in my chair. Jim was attending some matter with a yeoman. I focused my own concentration to the tasks at hand.

"Hey Spock. Back on duty?" Jim came to my side.

I turned and looked at him.

"Captain."

Jim blinked. "Woah, this is new. Glasses?"

"They are temporary."

"I like 'em," he winked.

I raised an eyebrow.

"You look sexy."

Seeing my reaction, Jim laughed. He clapped his hand to my shoulder, shook it, and then went back to his captain's chair, still laughing.

I looked at my reflection in the screen, turning my head from left to right.

I looked back at Jim. He caught my gaze and smirked.

I returned my attention to my duties.

For a flicker of a moment, my reflection smiled.


	84. Ch 84

I am half human.

The first memory I have cannot strictly be classified as a memory of consciousness. It is a feeling, several feelings that are contradictory. In an attempt to distinguish between the varying emotions, I devised an exercise, whereby a specific word is used as a focal point for the emotions. The word 'mother' is associated with the feeling of joy, amazement, pride, exhaustion, trust, love, and longing. The word 'healer' is associated with curiosity, detachment, scrutiny, indifference, wariness, and duplicity. The word 'stranger' is connected to feelings and simple words—supercilious, customary, arch, calculation, astonishment, probing, questions, peculiar, strange, bizarre, normal.

Outstanding among all these is a single word: different.

There are stories told among Terrans that children do not know what it means to be different. Unless they are taught to notice the difference, they ignore obvious physiological dissimilarties such as skin color, hair color, gender, height, speech patterns, accepting the variations as the norm. Biologically speaking, such diversity is standard. Indeed, the Terran species would not survive if the genetic pool were significantly reduced, as was attempted in the Eugenics Wars. Terrans nearly annihilated themselves during those wars, though admittedly reduced genome diversity would not have been the immediate cause of extinction.

The idea that genetic difference does not signify some larger inferiority has been a difficult concept for Terrans to accept. They have struggled throughout their history with simple biology, using it to justify wars, genocide, massacres, slavery, modified legal statutes, discrimination, segregation, cultural stereotypes, derogatory language, and day to day behavior. When Vulcans made First Contact with Terrans, the species, faced with true aliens, quickly resolved their standing concerns with internal biology and began to focus on xenobiology. However, despite the devastating effects of the Eugenics Wars and World War III, Terrans did not give up their obsession with 'the Other.' Xenophobes, and movements based on xenophobia, emerged. These groups have for the most part died out, but they are still in existence on Terra.

I am aware that in some ways, I am grossly simplifying the subject of discrimation. The many forms of intolerance draw much of their strength from history and tradition as they do from mere biological differences. Certain ethnic groups prescribe to certain religions, certain geographic regions develop certain cultural norms, certain populations correspond to certain socioeconomic ranks. Over time, a group of people are classified to be, think, and act in a set, often times negative and undesireable, way. When they do not act in this manner, it is ignored. When their actions correspond with the classification, it is taken as confirmation. As Terrans say, it is a 'self fulfilling prophecy.' Studies have also shown that when such boundaries are delineated, Terrans will often mold themselves according to those rules. This establishes a one-to-one correspondence between individuals and societal expectations that is difficult, and in some cases impossible, to transcend.

Given this history, and given the fact that Terrans still struggle with both specieism and xenophobia, at times I wonder what my upbringing would have been like if it had taken place on Terra. My mother and father debated this point before marriage. My mother desired to raise her children on Earth, while my father argued that any child they had would favor Vulcan physiology and would require a Vulcan upbringing. He was, obviously, correct in his assertions. Both my body and my brain favor my father's biology. Marks of my human heritage are present, but they are subtle and slight. Yet from the beginning of my conscious memory, and perhaps from the beginning of my existence, I have been impressed again and again by Vulcans with the fact that I am different.

Vulcans do not have a history of intraspecies discrimation justified by biology. There are as many variations of the Vulcan genome as there are of the Terran genome. Superficially, this is shown by the fact that Vulcans range the full spectrum of skin, eye, and hair color, height, weight, and mental capacity. Nor do they have a particular history of interspecies discrimation. Vulcans have pursued ambitious schedules in space exploration and as a species they have engaged in more First Contacts than any other member planet of the Federation. They are famous for the phrase 'infinite diversity in infinite combinations,' and it is a cornerstone in Vulcan policy and philosophy.

Vulcans have a long history, however, of associating instability, war, death, and extinction with emotion. The recent events of the _Narada_ have only confirmed this association, as Romulans are hypothesized to share common ancestry with Vulcans. In Nero, Vulcans recognized the killer instinct within themselves, the unbridled and mad emotion of a single individual which led to the death of an entire planet. Still, my case is different from that of Nero and his kind. The Romulans inhabit another star system. They are classified as another species. They have built a culture at the opposite extreme to that of Vulcans. The threat that they present is removed, completely separated from the main body of Vulcans.

I was not removed from Vulcan. I was within and amongst them, as one of their own. The uncontrollable potential they all have, they identified a thousand fold in me. They firmly believed that the heritage of my mother would amplify the treacherous power of emotions.

Few Vulcans have more than a passing knowledge of Terrans—most are more familiar with Andorians, as relations with that species have been more involved. What they remember concerning Terrans is the fact that humans are highly emotional, so much so that the individuals of the species evaluate their lives through emotion. For a Vulcan, such a thing is inconceivable and highly illogical. Using logic and proceeding from the assumption ingrained at birth that emotion is equivalent to instability, war, and death, Vulcans conclude that Terran society must at best be extremely inefficient, and at worst totally barbaric. Even the minority of Vulcans who are familiar with Terra cannot easily overcome the years of training and conditioning, especially when Terran society and history are still littered with examples of inefficiency, barbarism, instability, war, and death.

I lived in my father's house, grew and fully adopted Vulcan culture and Surak's philosophy, was educated according to the standard curriculum and excelled in that education. I exceeded the abilities of the majority of Vulcans in logical facilities. Physically there are few differences that can distinguish me from the full blooded Vulcans. The physicians formally classified me as a Vulcan and in all aspects, I was and still am Vulcan. In spite of these extensive commonalities, Vulcans have never truly counted me as one of their own. They have chosen to judge me by my mother's blood and her people, and in doing so they see in me the very thing they have sought to repress and eliminate over the centuries. My flesh and blood may be Vulcan, but my presence, my very existence is a physical manifestation of the threat to their ironclad control.

I received a Vulcan education. I was taught that emotions are equivalent to instability, war, death, and extinction. I was taught that I am different and have a higher susceptibility to emotion. I learned that my worst enemy is within myself and that he can never be loosed, lest he escape beyond my control. I was pronounced to be emotionally retarded, marginally unstable, borderline rampant. I was feared, persecuted, isolated, tormented for something that all Vulcans struggle with but never admit to. In turn, following the rules set forward by society at large, I learned to fear, persecute, isolate, and torment my human half because he was the harbinger of instability, war, death, and extinction. I rejected him because my father rejected him, my teachers rejected him, all my peers despised him, and society suppressed him.

The only person who accepted me wholly was my mother.

Since her death and my service on the _Enterprise_, I have been forced to face my emotions several times. In facing my emotions, I have also been given opportunity to reevaluate them and reconsider the assumptions upon which the Vulcan philsophy of emotional suppression have been founded.

It is true that my emotions are highly unstable, and it is difficult to control the actions compelled by those emotions. However, control is possible. The violation or death of another individual is not a foregone conclusion. Perhaps this is due to my human half, but I am able to reign in my emotional reactions up to a point. It takes a considerable amount of willpower and effort, but having experienced emotional compromise and overcome it, I have gained confidence in my own degree of control. That is not to say that I will cease suppressing my emotions. I will continue my usual meditative routine and adhere to Vulcan standards. However, I need not fear my human half to the extent that I was taught. I may acknowledge it without shame. I will not embrace it, but I will not totally reject it.

I would not have been able to reach this conclusion had I stayed among Vulcans. I even venture to say that I would not have been able to consider this line of thought had Vulcan survived and my mother lived. I would have continued along my former trajectory, unable to see beyond the strictures imposed. Terran psychology claims that events of sufficient gravity can force an individual to transform in ways he could not have anticipated. As I am half human, I believe this statement to be relevant. The events of the _Narada_, serving on the _Enterprise_, have changed me. Serving with these humans, who see the world through another viewpoint, has affected my own outlook. Somehow it is clear to me, though they do not say it in words and do not demonstrate it in dramatic actions, that they will accept me whatever I choose to be or do. They have seen me in my compromised state. They have seen me rigidly Vulcan. They have seen me debilitated by pain. They make no judgments, but simply accept me as I am.

One might argue that I would have avoided the experience on Vulcan had I simply been raised on Terra. Yet I am not certain that I would have fared any better on my mother's planet. Certainly the Terran education system would not be able to accomodate the needs of my intellect. Furthermore, Jim has recounted several incidents where he was made the object of scorn for specious reasons.

"I was the new kid a lot at school, and it's just convenient to pick on the new guy, you know? I dunno why they did it. I mean, it wasn't like I set out to be a target or anything—I was smarter than them, but I did my best to hide that. You don't want to get called a geek. I was pretty athletic too, so that shoulda made me kinda popular, typically.

"But it never worked out that way, I never belonged. So when they dumped that crap on me, I always fought back, but I wasn't nice about it. Sometimes, a lot of the times, things got down to fists and dirt. Then I'd get into trouble and then the teacher didn't like me and parents didn't like me. So kids kinda took that as a go ahead to just beat up on me all the time. Not literally beat up, just say nasty things and shit. I had a few friends in between, but I kinda hated school.

"By the time I was older, I just got used to being the odd one out and didn't bother to try and fit in. Ironically, that made me 'cool.' They thought I was some sorta mysterious bad boy, always getting into fights or cracking wise ass comments during class, riding around on my motorcycle.

"I dunno, you just gotta screw society and whatever they think and just be yourself. The way I figure it, there's always gonna be someone who hates you, so why bother changing yourself? It's their problem if they don't like you. And the people who do accept you for who you are, not who they want you to be or who they think you should be, they're worth keeping around."

Jim, as is typical, opts to eschew the opinion of society and define himself however he pleases. He is like the sun—his gravitational pull is such that he dictates the paths of others while he himself burns and lights the darkness.

I am not so. My identity is firmly rooted in Vulcan, and I cannot abandon it. Instead, I find my definition of myself has widened, expanded to include that which I formerly denied. I am the son of Sarek. I am a Vulcan of the Federation, Science Officer in Starfleet, First Officer to Captain James T. Kirk. I am the son of Lady Amanda Grayson.

I am half human.


	85. Ch 85

To celebrate the end of the first year aboard the U.S.S. _Enterprise_, the captain has decided to organize a "Talent Night." He has made a shipwide announcement, inviting any and all personnel who wish to participate to audition for the show. He has assigned Nyota and Sulu the task of judging the entries and finalizing all the preparations.

I have been roped into the task of co-hosting the show. For some reason, Jim finds it especially appropriate that we share this task together. Nyota has no objections and also considers it a good idea. I am of a slightly different opinion.

"Don't tell me you get stage fright. You deliver lectures to halls full of the Federation's preeminent scientists and the top brass of Starfleet!"

"Jim, an academic setting is very different from a recreational environment."

"Oh no. You're doing this with me. It'll be fun! I promise. Have I ever let you down?"

"Captain, I will follow you to the ends of the galaxy, but—"

"Great! Then follow me on stage. We just have to introduce the acts, maybe provide comic relief. Or, I'll provide comic relief, and you'll provide witty commentary. It's not as big a deal as you make it out to be."

"Then surely you might assign this charge to someone else, and I will fill a more managerial or technical position. Mr. Scott may be in need of assistance for lighting and sound."

"Spock."

"Jim."

"Come on. For me. Yeah?"

Jim looks at me. I cannot decipher the expression on his face. Nevertheless, my objections seem to disappear. I can find no logical reason to be nodding, yet I am.

"Awesome. It'll be great, I promise. We'll have an afterparty, or maybe two afterparties, to be fair to the crew that's on shift. It'll be a blast. Man, I probably haven't partied like this since I beat your program," he grinned.

"I put Chekov in charge of the party preparations. I don't know how, but he has the best scrounging abilities, did you know that? He'll be able to get as much booze in one place as possible. Christine's in charge of setting up the food, 'cause in my experience, girls're way better at thinking of refreshments than guys.

"Dr. McCoy refused to take part in these celebrations?"

"Oh he's participating all right. Bones is prepping a bunch of hangover formulas, complaining while he's at it, as usual. It'll be good times."

"And our role in all of this, captain?"

"Huh? Nothing, which is the best part. I've just delegated everything that needs to be done, like a good captain. See, I have learned shit this year. Anyway, since we've got a block of free time," Jim's eyes glinted with mischief. "Wanna go chess box?"

"Leonard will be displeased if he finds my eyes are damaged from our activities."

"Okay, I'll avoid hitting your head. It's not like I usually aim there anyway. It'll be low key. Just a way to unwind and get the stress out. And you were stuck in bed for a week. I always get antsy when I'm confined in one place like that for that long."

"Then I have no objections. I assume you have reserved an arena."

"Yup. See ya there in fifteen."

--

"Spock?"

"Nyota. I will be out in a moment." I finished dressing and emerged from the washroom.

"Where were you? I tried comming for you earlier, but you weren't here."

"I was chess boxing with Jim."

"Okay. How did it go?"

"Satisfactorily. I have improved my short game, though Jim still has an advantage. We did not put forth any real effort in the boxing. Jim seemed to be in a playful mood."

"Oh?"

"He was intent on pinning me to the floor. It was, as far as I could gather, his sole objective."

Nyota blinked. "Was he successful?"

"No. I evaded all his attempts. He was not trying very hard, as he was continuously laughing. Rather puzzling behavior," I gave a small shrug.

Nyota looked at me speculatively.

"Was there something else you wished to ask me? You stated that you could not reach me."

"I was wondering if you'd like to perform a piece with me at the Talent Show. You know that Ella Fitzgerland song we listened to yesterday, 'The Lady is a Tramp'? I'd like to sing it. Would you accompany me with your lyre?"

"Of course. I would be honored, ndugu."

Nyota smiled, her face bright. "We'll have to make some major changes in the accompaniment, and that'll affect the tone of the song. That doesn't matter though. We'll make it work. I have the lyrics, but there wasn't any sheet music."

"Then we shall improvise. Our combined proficiency has improved considerably since we first began this study. The lack of formal musical notation will not hinder our production."

Nyota could not contain her excitement and hugged me. "I'm so excited! This is definitely one of Jim's better ideas. Though, he's not fooling me or Sulu, or anyone for that matter. He gets an idea and dumps the work on us? You'll have to warn him that he's not going to get away with that trick anymore. We're onto him."

"He is the captain."

"He might be a captain, but he's still Jim," Nyota tsked, as though this statement explained everything. "Do you have time now? I want to get started right away."

--

The United Earth Starship _Enterprise_ (NCC-1701) presents

The First Annual DS5Mi Talent Show—To boldly go where no man has gone before.

Hosted by Capt. James T. Kirk & 1st Officer Spock

Part I

1. Glowstringing to "Moscow Never Sleeps" by DJ Smash, "Ya soshla s'uma (Russian Techno Remix)" by t.A.T.u, performed by Lt. Pavel Chekov

2. Rhythmic Gymanstics, routine with ribbon to "Moscow Nights," performed by Yeoman Eugenia Kanaeva.

3. Freestyle rap, performed by Ensign Nyeem Holton

4. Martial Arts Tricks and Awesome Shit Demo, by Lt. Thomas Condor, Lt. Yamada Hanako, Lt. Valeria Sacchi, Lt. Skovhus Haaser, Lt. Jiang-Tian Wu, and Lt. Bruce Kim.

Intermission (5 min)

Part II

5. Breakdance to Pachelbel's _Canon in D_ remix, performed by Dr. Hwajin Jung, Lt. Hikaru Sulu, beatboxing by Engineer John Cho, DJing by Ensign Maurer Gupta.

6. Federation Sign Language rendition of "Stronger" by Kanye West, performed by Ensign Latham Cordero, Ensign Gretchen Schildkraut, Engineer Orlando Nugent-Kalush.

7. "Air on the G String" by Johann Sebastian Bach, performed by Ensign Richard Winters on violin, accompanied by Lt. Bo Chen

8. Step Dance Medley. Engineer Duron Williams & Engineer Denzel Williams—African-American Step, Yeoman Margaret Cullinane—Irish Stepdance.

9. "Goddamned life aboard the U.S.S. _Enterprise_," Stand up comedy act by Dr. Leonard McCoy.

10. "Vesti la giubba" (Put on the costume) from Leoncavallo's _Pagliacci_, performed by Lt. Luciano Bartoli

Intermission (15 min)

Part III

11. "The Lady is a Tramp" by Ella Fitzgerald, performed by Lt. Nyota Uhura, accompaniment on lyre by 1st Officer Spock

12. "Amazing Grace" & "The Rowan Tree" on bagpipes, performed by Lt. Commander Montgomery Scott

13. Gymnastics floor routine, performed by Lt. Dmitri Nemov

14. Enactment of Act IV, Scene iii (abridged) from _Henry V_ by William Shakespeare, performed by Lt. Virginia Sawyer—King Harry, Ensign Piet Cronje—Montjoy, Yeoman Christiaan de Wet—Gloucester, Yeoman Koos Bathodos—Westmoreland, Engineer Kimberley Modder—Bedford, Lt. Carlos de la Rey—Salisbury, Ensign Colombine Wauchope—York, Yeoman Kenneth Branaugh—Exeter

Production: Lt. Nyota Uhura & Lt. Hikaru Sulu

Set Designer: Lt. Kinothear & Yeoman Barrows

Lighting & Sound Designer: Lt. Comm. Montgomery Scott

Stage Director: Sec. Chief Giotto

Special thanks to: Lt. Pavel Chekov & Nurse Christine Chapel for directing afterparty setup, Ensign Maurer Gupta for DJing, Dr. Racik Eerastom & Engineer Patricio Carfizzi for bartending, Lt. Comm. Montgomery Scott for setting up the sweetest holographic disco lights I've ever seen.

--

The audience buzzes and pulsates with anticipation. Lights backstage are ethereal blue, the participants are softly laughing or preparing themselves for their set. In the blue light I can see Jim talking to Lt. Giotto. He nods, claps the older man on the back, and Giotto leaves. For a moment, Jim stands still, listening to the muted energy of his crew, like the calm hum of the _Enterprise_ itself as it journeys through the galaxy. The light paints him softly, subdued and he smiles to himself. Then he turns his head and looks directly at me, standing aside on stage right. He motions for me to join him.

"You ready?"

We are standing in the middle of the stage, curtains closed. The space is open as crewmembers hurriedly go to their places. Lt. Chekov is the first act and he is practicing complicated hand and arm movements that twist and turn all about him. He jumps lightly and nods his head, stretches his neck from side to side. Jim has decided that we will begin without commentary.

The space is closed. The audience is beyond us, thrumming and electric, separated by a barrier. The space that surrounds us is intimate and suspended. A few minutes before the Lt. Giotto will call us backstage to open the curtains and let the spectacle begin. I can feel the eagerness of the performers and audience igniting the air. For now, Jim stands before me, lit in blue. Soft light and shadows dance over his form—shoulders, neck, elbows, torso—and the glow illuminates the planes of his face while throwing other parts into darkness. He is a silhouette, a painting in blue chiaroscuro.

Jim's eyes are on me. "Let's do this," he whispers.

We walk backstage. Jim gives Pavel a reassuring nod and the Russian grins.

Giotto stands ready. Everything is in place. He speaks into his headset and receives confirmation from the control booth to go ahead. The soft blue dims until everything is darkness. The bubbling chatter of the audience is gone and there is a taut silence.

Curtains rise.

Pavel stands in a pose, two objects in his hand. You can barely see his form in the darkness—he is wearing all black. An instant, an eternity before the beginning. A breath held, the expectation of something radiant.

Then.

Music. Pavel counts the beats, then slams something into the stage and with a crack, the glowsticks ignite brilliant orange. The lights slowly circle, dancing around each other and they spin faster and faster as he builds up the momentum in his act.

It is indescribable. I have never seen anything like it as the lights streak through the darkness and the music reverberates on the speakers, the beat coursing through the audience. They arc through the air, they spin around each other, they create helix around his body, they fall through the darkness. He breaks out another set of purple glowsticks and paints the black space with color. The purple and orange twist around him, circle about and every so often you can see Chekov himself, concentrating on the lights before him. The second part of his act is a ballet, a balance between the turning of slow circles and frenzied twisting. Towards the end, he takes the glowsticks and freehands.

He ends in a pose, arms outstretched, knee to the ground, head bowed, breathing heavily.

The audience is still for a moment, then explodes with applause. The lights go up to reveal a beaming lieutenant. He bows and laughs, is somewhat surprised by the sheer volume of the applause but embraces it.

Before Jim and I join him on stage, I look out at the audience. They are dark, covered by the blazing hot lights that illuminate the space. White, yellow, fierce, unforgivingly harsh light streaks down. I hear the cheers of the crew and know by their overwhelming volume of their presence, while their shapes are blended together in the obscurity beyond. Beside me, Jim is smiling brilliantly, basking in the energy that fills the auditorium. He catches my eye, slings his arm around my shoulder, and gives me a look.

"Come on. Let's go stand in that limelight."

When we walk out on stage, the applause increases. Someone catcalls, and the audience laughs. Jim brings the microphone to up to speak, and the quiet returns.

I did not expect the first thing he says.

"Space, the final frontier. These are the voyages of the starship _Enterprise_. Its five year mission: to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations; to boldy to where no man has gone before."

* * *

If you want an idea of how the show goes down, see _Annotations_, the section for this chapter.


	86. Ch 86

"i'm on a mission"

Electronic beat as the music possesses, coaxes movements from the body. The outlines of Terrans dancing. They are not graceful, but they don't care. Movement without abandon.

"prepare yourself"

The sound of the bass seems to shake the ship.

"come on people—"

Laughter, yelling, screaming, the pulse of music booming and the rhythm of bodies grinding.

"get crazy for the dance floor—"

Sweat, beer, water, vodka, moonshine, tequila, the slight trace of vomit, pheromones, all in the air. The warm humidity of bodies.

"are we ready—"

Darkness and flashing lights, holographic displays, red, pink, yellow, green orange, blue, all in neon varieties.

"5"

Breathlessness and the atmosphere soaked with feeling, lust and haze, lowered inhibitions, and a mood that dominates

"4"

Let's party hard.

"3 2 1 rock!"

Nyota wears an exquisite dress that fits every curve of her body. Her long legs are bare, lithe and athletic. She moves and hypnotizes, the dance charged with sexuality and her expression coy.

"i'm on a mission"

There is a crowd gathered around Sulu as he and Pavel alternate between breakdancing and raving. Pavel holds a new light in his hands, LEDs that create shapes as well as circles. Their clothes are soaked with sweat and they keep dancing.

"guess what"

Laughter in another group as Scotty cheers on a young engineer to do 'the robot,' offering the boy 'liquid courage' in the form of an amber drink.

"kick ta the bassline kick ta the floor pump that body i like it more roll to the beat now roll to the line pump that body one more time. one for the bassline two for the floor three for the beat and i want some more. one, two, one two three kick it"

A spontaneous whoop goes up, followed by screams and shouts. The crowd kicks it up a notch and the energy surges, then falls back down to its normal level. The beat pounding bodies throbbing feelings following the cadence of the music.

"i'm on a mission"

Leonard acting as chaperone, his face lit with amuse as he surveys the crowd. He takes a sip of his drink and sits back.

"we kick it jump it bump it / rock it one more time \ we kick it jump it bump it / rock it one more time \ we kick it jump it bump it / rock it one more time \ the M / C \ B gonna blow your mind"

Jim is somewhere in that mass of people, indistinguishable from the pulse and flow. He decided against wearing part of his dress uniform and is dressed in black, the shirt fitted to his body.

An abrupt change in music and the party visibly changes its rhythm. Lust want desire spikes up and but the party still surges with power and the whirlwind of their sensations.

"don't you / like it? (like it - - like it) has my heart been misguided, please take me into your world - - - (take me into your world now) - - - baby i'm on / fire \ feed my desire"

Not everyone is in the main recreation room. Those who did not wish to participate in the celebrations are on duty. In another room, the older crewmembers play cards over drinks and snacks. Christine Chapel takes a break from the dancing and seems to be winning a considerable number of credits playing blackjack.

The corridors of the _Enterprise_ are unusually empty. Another shout goes up, the sound now distant. It echoes through the ship. In various corners there are men and women wrapped around each other, oblivious to passerbys as they kiss and moan and explore each other with roaming hands and mouths.

Continue up the observation deck, where the darkness is different and there is no sound.

I stare out at the spread of the galaxy as we pass through. I identify the systems we have visited, the stars we have touched. I remember the faces of people we have met, dignitaries hosted, ambassadors greeted, aliens contacted, messages communicated, experiences shared, deaths mourned, lives lost, the sorrow, the struggle, the laughter, the light.

A place both found and created. A mathematics built from the axioms of my choosing. An outstretched hand. A promise.

"A friendship that will define you both, in ways you cannot yet realize."

An infinitesimal moment, an everlasting interval.

"Spock?"

I turn.

"Captain."

"What're you doing here? I thought you were down at the party. It figures you'd disappear the one time I'm not paying attention. What's up?"

"Nothing, Jim. I am simply reflecting."

"About what?"

"Our experience on this ship. My service aboard the _Enterprise_."

"Giving yourself an evaluation? Oh, shit, that reminds me, I haveta fill out those forms and send them to Starfleet, don't I? The yearly evals or whatnot. Fuck. When are those due?"

"They were due fourteen hours ago, Jim."

"Damnit. Whatever. It's not like Starfleet's gonna fire me for sending the files a little late."

"Indeed. Will you need any assistance?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna need your help. And a giant cup of coffee, wading through their paperwork. Great, I can look forward to that after all this is done. And I'm signed up for cleanup crew. Damn. Whatever. I'll deal with it later."

A comfortable silence.

"Come on. Let's got back down to the party. You've gotta show me your kickass dance moves."

"Jim, Vulcans do not dance."

"Sure they don't."

"You have reason to doubt the verity of my statement?"

He laughed. "I've seen the way you move when we're sparring."

I looked at him. "Permission to politely decline, captain."

"Not granted. Don't worry about it Spock, no one will remember anyway. They're all drunk off their asses. Just follow my lead."

Somehow, I find myself in the center of the crowd, the people swirling around us like stardust spinning around a newly formed sun.


	87. Ch 87

The _Enterprise_ shudders.

"Stay on top of it, Sulu."

"Doing my best, captain. Helm's sluggish, I don't know why. Maybe it's these waves."

"Control circuits're threatenin' ta overload, Jim."

"Got it, Scotty. Spock? Is that enough?"

"I believe we will have everything plotted in a few more orbits, captain. Lt. Chekov?"

"_Da_, sir. We will be orbiting four more times and then we are going to on to next mission."

"Okay." The helmsman's terminal exploded in a shower of sparks. "Sulu!"

"Hikaru!" Lt. Chekov rose to leave his station, but the ship rocked again. He turned his attention back to the navigation panels, rapidly calculating new paths of orbit. Pavel's eyes darted to the prone form of Sulu, but he pushed aside his personal concerns for his friend. His first duty was to the ship.

"Sulu! Bones, get up here. Scotty, what was that? A major overload?"

"Aye, captain. I've got it switched ta manual. Are we going ta maintain this orbit here? It'll get rough again very fast."

"Spock?"

"This is of great scientific importance, captain. This is the first time such a phenomenon has been reported in space—we are passing through ripples in time. Any data we may collect and any knowledge we may gain will revolutionize our understanding of space-time."

"Okay. Maintain orbit as long as you can, Chekov. Lt. Wolfflin, get helm for now. Nyota, open a channel with Command and start broadcasting all our data and the recent log entries and reports, especially the weird readings that brought us here in the first place. Spock, tell your scientists to forward whatever data they get on the instruments to Communications. And I want backups on everything—I don't want a hard drive wipe setting us back another week again."

"Aye sir."

"Any guess as to what's creating these ripples? Maybe someone, or something?"

"At this point, anything I say is purely speculation, Jim."

Dr. McCoy entered the bridge.

"Bones, over here," Jim's attention was on Lt. Sulu, but he glanced up at me to indicate that I had his attention.

"The raw data seems to indicate that these changes in time are causing turbulent waves of spatial displacement. Theoretical physicists have long predicted this exact relationship, but this is the first time we are witnessing a natural occurence in space. The source of the change, the object or entity generating these waves, is totally unknown."

Jim nodded, while Leonard assessed Sulu's condition. He looked at the doctor.

"Some heart flutter, a few burns, nothing serious. Normally I'd just haul him to Sickbay, but you need him at helm, don't you."

"Yeah."

"I guess I'll risk some drops of cordrazine. He'll have hell to pay later though."

"Woah, wait, Bones, cordrazine? That shit's tricky stuff. Are you sure you wanna risk—?"

Dr. McCoy administered the appropriate dosage through his ubiquitous hypospray. Lt. Sulu opened his eyes, alert and apparently unharmed.

"You were about to make a medical comment, Jim?"

"Who me? No," Jim grinned.

"Let me see your hands, Sulu and apply somethin' for that burn there."

"Later, doc. I'm fine, I can manage," Lt. Sulu replied as he sat up and went back to his post. The burns on his hands were already becoming an intense red.

"Keptan, we are guiding around many many time ripples _sechas_," Lt. Chekov said, alternately looking at his friend's hands and his own navigation panel.

"Wolfflin, back to your post. Got it, Sulu? We're operating on manual."

"Yup, thanks cap'n," Sulu said as he took the helm again. His hands were, as always, steady.

"Nyota, how's the communications going? Spock? How are we doing?"

"Everything's being uploaded, Jim."

"Science department reports that we have all plotted but one, captain."

"Coming on it right now, keptan. It is seeming to be wery heawy displacement. Hikaru?"

"On my count, Pasha. Two, one, now."

Despite the skilled piloting of Lt. Sulu, the displacement still caused significant turbulence. Several crew members struggled to maintain balance and some fell out of their seats. Jim stumbled.

"Bones! Goddamnit," Jim ran to the doctor, who crumpled to the floor.

When the on duty security personnel lifted the doctor to his feet, a hypo fell out, its dosage capsule empty. I picked up the hypospray to determine the substance he had injected into himself.

"Everyone get back, give him some air."

"Jim," I showed him the hypospray and the capsule. "Empty."

"It was set for cordrazine," his eyes widened at the implications.

"Nyota, get me an emergency medical team now."

"On it, Jim, they're already on their way—"

Leonard suddenly roared to life. Literally.

"Assassins! Killers! I won't let you! I'll kill you first, goddamnit! I won't let you! You won't get me, devil take ya! Murderers! Killers!"

"Bones, calm down—Spock take him out," Jim ordered sharply.

"I'll kill you first! Assassins!"

In the ensuing confusion, Leonard McCoy somehow escaped the grasp of three security officers, the captain, myself, and four other officers. Mr. Scott, Lt. Sulu, Lt. Chekov, and Nyota barely maintained control of the ship as the doctor rampaged and raged. He flung himself into the turbolift and engaged the security lock.

"Captain speaking—Shipwide security alert. Apprehend Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy—he's been accidentally overdosed with cordrazine, shows signs of paranoia and violent behavior. Detain him, get the medical team, and sedate him, let me know of his condition as soon as possible. Kirk out.

"Spock."

"I am already running a search on ship databases and running cross references with articles on the nets, Jim."

"Nyota."

"Christine just sent me a quick summary of the effects of cordrazine. It doesn't say very much about high dosages—she says it hasn't been studied. There's some record of extreme terror, enough to weaken a person's heart and overload his brain."

"Confirmed by library findings, captain. Quote, 'subjects failed to recongize acquaintances, became hysterically convinced they were in mortal danger, and sought escape any cost.' Additional comments state that 'subjects posed a severe danger to themselves and all who sought to assist them.'"

"Is there a cure?"

"Chris says here that there isn't anything you can do except let the stuff take its course."

"No counter-substance mentioned in any of the literature, captain."

"Can it do permanent damage? Or kill him?"

Nyota glanced at me before she straightened into her formal Starfleet posture. She submerged her emotions and her eyes burned with steel. Whatever the consequences, Jim needed her to continue performing her duties. "Yes, captain," she answered.

Jim frowned and looked into some point inside himself, drawing confidence from that reserve and from the combined strength of his command crew. His eyes glowed with determination as he looked at me.

_This is how it's supposed to be, all of us, together. How it was, and always will be. We built and fought and worked and earned this. I won't let anything take that away from me._

I nodded. "It is a possibility, Jim."

"We'll find a way out of this."

_This is how it's supposed to be. Spock. You by my side, as if you've always been here and always will be._

--

"Captain's log. Two drops of cordrazine can save a man's life," the captain's gaze fell on Lt. Sulu, who was stilly calmly manning the helm. "A hundred times that amount's just been pumped into Dr. McCoy's body. He's escaped from the Bridge and is somewhere on the _Enterprise_, totally paranoid. All decks have been placed on alert," Jim turned to me. "We have no way of knowing if the madness if permanent or temporary, or in what direction it'll drive the him. But we'll find an answer."

--

"Let me get this straight, Ensign Galloway. You're on duty here in the transporter room."

"Yes captain."

"I put this whole ship on alert status, made a ship-wide announcement that our CMO is dangerous and loose on the ship, willing to take violent action, and you're telling me that he's just _beamed down_, from this transporter room, to the center of those time waves."

"Uhh—"

"Stand in front of me at attention, Ensign. I want a straight answer _now_," Jim ordered, his voice commanding the full authority of his rank.

Ensign Galloway snapped to attention. "Yes, sir."

"And what the hell were you doing, sleeping at your station? Or do you make it habit to ignore the alerts and my direct orders?"

"No sir, I was browsing the nets, sir."

"Browsing the nets."

"Yes sir."

"You always browse the nets when you're on duty?"

"No sir."

"Spock."

"Your computer terminal records indicate that you have downloaded 49 gigabytes of high definition pornography for the past seven shifts you were on duty."

Ensign Galloway grinned sheepishly, giving a pleading look at the captain. He found no sympathy.

"That's interesting. What kind of porn?" Jim's face was neutral. His eyes blazed. "What, you don't wanna answer?"

"Captain," I said. Jim tilted his head towards me.

There are more pressing matters at hand, I conveyed.

I haven't forgotten, he replied with a look. But I'm not going to tolerate this bullshit on my ship.

Jim stepped towards Ensign Galloway.

"Let me make this clear. I'm all for having a good time. And I like to get to know all my crew. But if that interferes with the operation of this ship, I have no problem writing you up for it. If your fun leads to the fucking inexcusable neglect of your duty as a crewmember of this ship, or ends up endangering another person, like you've just endangered Dr. McCoy, you're not serving under me.

"You're new here, aren't you. Part of a round of replacements we picked up from four weeks ago."

"Yes sir."

"I though I made all this clear during training rounds."

"Very clear, sir."

Jim gave the ensign before him a hard look. "So why are we even talking about this. Actually, tell me this—what made you want to serve on the _Enterprise_."

Ensign Galloway gave no answer.

"I asked you a question, Ensign."

"I wanted to serve on the _Enterprise _because it's the best ship in the Federation fleet, sir."

"And why is it the best ship in the Federation?"

"I don't know, sir."

"It's the fucking best ship in the Federation because these men and women give 100% every time they're on duty. They know how to work hard, they know how to play hard, and more than that, they know _when_ to work hard and play hard. I demand the best they've got, and they give it to me. You clearly don't know what that means.

"I'm demoting you to the Engine room, and the first Starbase we get to, you're off my ship. Dismissed."

Jim looked at me with an expression on his face. What? Don't give me that look. He had it coming.

I nodded. You misunderstand me. I support you in your actions completely, captain.

"We're gonna have to run more emergency sims to get the replacements into shape."

--

"Where is he?"

"On the planet, as far as we can calculate, Jim," Engineer Scott said.

"We can be saying better than that, keptan. He is wery certainly in the middle of time disturbance."

"How the hell does Bones even know how to operate a transporter? He's never taken a class or bothered to learn how to do it. Self transport's not exactly a walk in the park."

"He is not likely to be in a rational state of mind, captain. It has been reported that humans acting solely under the influence of their subconscious are capable of acting or reproducing actions they are not able to perform while fully conscious."

"Giotto to Kirk."

"Kirk here."

"I've got two search parties ready, sir. They're on the way to the transporter room. Standard procedures, sir?"

"Yeah. You briefed them on everything we know about the time waves?"

"Yes sir. They'll report anything to you immediately."

"Okay. I'll be beaming down shortly, send them ahead with orders to survey the area, scout the region. We don't know anything about this place and all our readings are messed up by these space-time distortions, so tell them to be on their guard."

"Understood, sir."

"Good. Kirk out." He turned his attention back to the crew. "Sulu, you've got the conn, Chekov acts as your First. If anything happens, get the hell out. Nyota, Scotty, you guys come with us."

"What about Spock?" Nyota asked, puzzled.

"I said 'us,' didn't I? Who else could I be talking about?"

--

"Security, report."

"No sign of Dr. McCoy yet, sir, though tricorder readings register positive for his frequencies. All of these ruins here provide perfect cover and nice dark hiding places for him, so it may be a while before we're able to flush him out."

"What about the surroundings? Did you get a radius on how far these ruins spread?"

"They seem to go on forever, sir. Which is impossible, since the planet is finite, but the readings we register, it's as though we're on a plane that just spreads infinitely in all directions. Hard to get an orientation, sir, in a setting like this."

"The yeomen have been getting all these recordings?"

"We have, sir."

"How old is this place?"

"Carbon dating puts it within a few thousand years of our closest estimate to the age of the universe, captain."

"_What_?"

"Fascinating."

"You're telling me that this was here before the Milky Way galaxy was born?"

"Yes sir."

"Spock? Explain this to me?"

"As Lt. Namor pointed out, the space of this planet does not coincide with the space that we observed from the ship. I postulate that the physical planet, which is much younger than the age of our galaxy, and this space we are in right now are two different spaces which, at this particular moment, happen to overlap."

"We're in another dimension?"

"We are in the intersection of several dimensions."

"Damnit, I must be _cursed_. Why the hell do we keep getting this 'lets mess with space-time' missions? And don't say it's Kirk-force."

"If you so desire, when we return to the ship I will look into the matter, captain."

"What, so you can discover Kirk-force prime or something? No thanks. I'm actually beginning to think this is all related to you."

I raised my eyebrow.

Jim began warming up to the idea. "Yeah. It makes so much more sense that way! When we get back to the ship, _I'll_ go and investigate this with Chekov and when we get results, you can bet your ass we're naming the new force after you."

"Jim," Nyota said. "Focus. Ensign Arapaho, did you gather any other information we need to know about? Where's the source of the time displacement?"

"We found a series of strange metal objects, like giant beat-up steel donuts. Most of them are dormant, but we think one or two are producing all the effects we've been experiencing. It's definitely pulsating with some kind of power."

"Well, let's head over there. We'll check out the first site. Arapaho, you take Scotty and Nyota to the second site. Security, you keep tracking Bones. Let us know as soon as possible when you've got him."

"Aye sir," various personnel replied and saluted.

"Let's go, Spock."

--

"Unbelievable, captain."

"Funny, Spock. Explain."

"I cannot. For this to do what it does is impossible by any science I understand. The security teams were correct in their hypothesis—this is the single source of all the space-time displacement. It is operating even now, putting out waves and waves which we picked up lightyears away by our sensors."

"A-team to Kirk, we've got a trail on Dr. McCoy. Search progressing. Sent for B-team to rendezvous with us to obtain the objective."

"When you get him, just try and knock him unconscious. No sedatives, no sprays—they might mess with his system."

"Understood, sir."

While Jim communicated with the security teams, I walked around the structure, taking tricorder readings. The object truly was like nothing we had ever encountered before.

"Incredible. It can't be a machine as we understand mechanics."

Jim frowned. "Then what the hell is it?"

The structure suddenly lit up and spoke in an echoing voice. "A question. The same question as the last time, as it has been and always will be. Since before your sun burned hot in space and before time split, I have awaited this question."

"You've met us before."

"I am the Guardian of Forever. We met in another time, another displacement."

"Definitely your fault," Jim mumbled to me under his breath. He then raised his voice. "What are you? Obviously you have mechanical parts, but you do have any organic parts?"

"I am both and neither. I am my own beginning, my own ending."

"A remarkably vague answer with little substantive meaning. I see no reason why your replies to our queries should be couched in riddles."

"I answer as simply as your level of makes possible."

I grew rather irritated. "A time portal, captain. A gateway to other times and dimensions, which supports my hypothesis that this space is the intersection of multiple, perhaps infinite, universes."

"That answer is as correct as possible for you. Your science knowledge is obviously primitive."

"Really," I deadpanned.

"Annoyed, Spock?"

"Behold. A gateway to your own past, if you wish."

Suddenly in the hole of the structure appeared images of Vulcan's past, beginning at the birth of the planet. I stood before the machine-being, fascinated by everything that I saw. It then occurred to me that I ought record all of this with my tricorder—millions of geologic years had already passed and went unrecorded. I watched and recorded as aliens visited Vulcan and deposited colonists, the ancestors of our species.

"Killers! Killers! I won't let you get me! I'll kill you first! I won't let you get me! Assassins! Murderers! Killers!"

Dr. McCoy spat furiously and roared as he struggled against the hands that reached out to grab him. The two security teams created a ring around him. Nyota, Scotty, and Ensign Arapaho came running from another direction. Three security team members finally got a hold of him and I delivered a neck pinch.

"Good work, teams. I guess that means we're beaming up soon? What were your findings, Nyota, Scotty?"

"We weren't able to do much, because Leonard suddenly came out of nowhere and tried to jump through one of these portals. Thanks goodness the other one wasn't active. We've been chasing him this whole time."

"The whole time?"

"Aye sir. Space dinnae work here like it normal does—it felt like forever tryin' ta catch him. Sometimes he was so near, but other times it was like he was an eternity away."

"Weird. And all this is because of the space displacement."

"We think so."

"Behold. A gateway to your own past, if you wish."

The machine began to go through Terran history.

"Spock—if tha thing's a doorway back through time, we could somehow go back and stop Nero. Prevent the destruction of Vulcan."

"Relive the incidents, this time ensure that Nero never obtains the Red Matter. What of yourself, Jim. You might prevent the death of your father."

"Do you think—?"

"No. What is done is done, captain. Our objective here was to retrieve Dr. McCoy and gather information. Those two objectives have been accomplished. As tempting as it is to change the course of the events which have defined our lives, our time is as it is."

"Yeah, you're right. Let's get outta here before something else happens."

"McCoy!" Scotty shouted in alarm.

"Bones, no!"

The doctor leapt through the Guardian and disappeared.

"Where is he?" Jim demanded.

"He has passed into what was."

"Fuck it, don't tell me 'what was,' I'm not an idiot. Give me a goddamn time!"

"Captain," Nyota said urgently. "Jim, something's wrong. I've lost contact with the ship. I was talking to them about beam up, then it suddenly went dead. No static, no noise. Just, nothing."

"Interference? Kirk to _Enterprise_. Come in. Scotty, what's up?"

"Nothing wrong with the communicator, sir."

"Your vessel, your beginning, all that you knew is gone," the Guardian's voice boomed.

Several crewmembers looked up to the strange, distorted sky above. It no longer looked like a sky, but a ceiling.

"Dr. McCoy has somehow changed history."

"You mean we're stranded down here?" Lt. Kunst asked, bewildered.

"With no past, and no future," Jim said to himself. "We're totally alone."

--

"Captain's log, no stardate. For us, time doesn't exist. Dr. McCoy, back somewhere in Earth's past, has effected a change in the course of time. All history has been changed. There's no starship Enterprise. We've only got one chance. We've asked the Guardian to show us Earth's history again. Spock and I are going to back in time ourselves and attempt to set right whatever it was that the CMO changed."

--

"You were still recording, right?"

"Affirmative, captain. I believe I can approximate just when to jump, though my precision is likely to vary by one or two years. Six months, if we are fortunate."

"Just make sure we get there before Bones. We have to stop him before he does whatever it was that changed the timeline. But how the hell do we get back? Guardian, if we're successful—"

"Then you will be returned. It will be as though none of you had gone."

"Jim, it seems impossible," Nyota said. "And really dangerous. Even if you could pin down the right time—"

"Findin' the good doctor would be a miracle."

"There is no alternative, Nyota," I said quietly.

"Scotty, Nyota, when you think you've waited long enough—all of you—you'll have to try it. Then, even if you fail, at least you'll be alive in some past world somewhere. Got that? Those are orders."

"Aye."

"Captain, we are nearing the time. Stand by."

"Good luck, Mr. Spock. Captain," Scotty nodded.

"And happiness," Nyota's eyes glinted with tears. This may be the last time we see each other. She gave me a quick hug and said "Take care of yourself."

"I will return to you, ndugu. I promise this to you."

The time was upon us.

We jumped.

--

"Where are we?" the unspoken question passes between us.

As we materialize in the new world, this alien era, sounds rush over me, a tide of vehicles, individuals, foosteps, voices.

We are living in a legend.


	88. Ch 88

"Where are we?"

We are living in a legend.

--

It is the year 2009. We are standing in the middle of a crossroads, a series of intersections surrounded by skyscrapers, whose sides are covered with enormous posters and screens that flash every color. The crowds flow around us and into us. The people are confused, dazed, amazed, overwhelmed. There are a few who hurry past, indifferent to everything around them. Displays that scroll around the buildings, telling of stock share prices and the latest news stories.

There are men and women on the streets vending food and drink. There are tables covered in scarves, bags of dubious quality, sunglasses, and jewelry. There are policemen standing at different corners, Terrans stopped to take pictures. The ground level is lined with stores that seem to sell everything imaginable, from electronics to strange statuettes to clothing to postcards. Terrans wait at ticket booths to see an afternoon show. There are shoe stores selling every imaginable variety of footwear conceivable. A man picks through the trashcan and absently eats what he finds. Another has a sign begging for food or money. A street artist draws a crowd as he paints a scene from aerosol canisters.

Everywhere people try to speak over each other and walk over or through each other. Bright yellow cars running on some form of combustion based engine blare their horns as stragglers run across the street. Small stands sell newspapers and brightly packaged bars of candy. People emerge from stairs under the sidewalk, from terminals marked "Downtown Do Not Enter Exit Only." In the midst of this activity, no one finds our sudden appearance strange. Our apparel does not draw particular attention. No one looks twice at my unusual ears or pale green skin.

It is 2009, pre-Warp.

Jim stands, his head tilted, his eyes also taking in the scene. He is exhilirated by the sight. The chaotic rhythm of the city is already ingrained in him.

He looks at me, eyes bright and intense.

A group of Terrans pass. From their garbled language and strange words, I can distinguish these exclamations: "Can you believe it?! Times Square! This is crazy! Oh, I've always dreamed of being in New York," a girl squeals.

We are living in a legend.

--

The City on the Edge of Forever.

New York City. The city that never sleeps. A place that has passed into Terran myth.

In 2050, close to the end of the Third Terran World War, the Eastern Coalition, in an attempt to launch a final decisive attack to obtain total and instant victory in that fractious war, made a gamble. It was a move calculated to demoralize the Norte-Sur Americano Continental Alliance and force them to capitulate.

I am not certain what geopolitical significance the Eastern Coalition thought such a victory would have. At this stage in the war Terra was so ravaged by the long years of narcotic and nuclear warfare that any victory was hollow when one considered the costs.

Terran historical records report that by this time, most of the major cities of the planet suffered severe damages or had whole districts reduced to rubble. Mumbai, Johannesburg, Istanbul, Buenos Aires, Seoul, Delhi, Moscow, Shanghai, Baghdad, Hong Kong, Mexico City, Nairobi, London, Tehran, Kinshasa, Berlin, Cairo, Sao Paulo, Beijing, Jerusalem, Los Angeles, Jakarta, Singapore, Melbourne, Lima, Karachi, Bangalore, Chicago, Lagos, Tokyo—these central cities represent only a part of the total number of global cultural, political, and financial capitals whose populations were wiped out by nuclear radiation or narcotics. Cities were particularly targeted by the eco-terrorists early in the war, as they viewed the metropolis as a source of the impurity and pollution that contaminated the world.

No city went through the war unscathed, but a few developed effective methods to defend themselves against such attacks and continuously rebuild the damaged areas. Smaller cities fared better in this endeavor, for obvious reasons. One large metropolis, however, was able to sustain a remarkable schedule of defense and restoration. It was the first city to fully utilize and effectively implement the newly discovered defensive technology of shielding. The system became a model for others, while the city became a symbol among Terrans at large. This city's famous statue, Lady Liberty, represented the endurance of human spirit in the face of unending war, the prospect of tolerance and acceptance of the diversity of mankind, and the hope of a new beginning.

As a symbol, New York was attacked a countless number of times, and each time it stood bending, but not broken. The primitive shields provided basic cover, but they could not prevent certain damages to buildings and infrastructure. The city's signature skyline was ragged, scattered with the shells of shattered buildings, but its people continued to pulse through the streets. The adversity that should have caused everything to fall apart and drive the city dwellers into the safer haven of the suburbs only served to strengthen their loyalty to their metropolis and its symbol. A popular song of the time christened New York City with a new name. It had always been known as the Big Apple, the city that never sleeps. The song named it 'the city on the edge of forever'—forever attacked, forever rebuilding, forever dying, forever reborn. Forever their lady stood on the edge of the harbor, raising her torch in the midst of the chaos.

Terran historical archives show even before the war, New York City was never simply a sprawling urban municipality of the North American continent. It stood as one of the world's preeminent cities, already mythic in its status. Historians debate the exact symbolic nature of the city with relation to the pre-Eugenics era world, but it is agreed that New York was viewed as one of the major centers of art and culture. It was a place of opportunity. It had a long tradition of the principle of the 'mixing bowl,' the city built of immigrants. Pre-Eugenics New York was considered to be at once cold and heartless and fast and exciting. It was unrepentantly liberal, and unapologetically free.

This symbol was what the Eastern Coalition sought to destroy. And so it took a gamble. It salvaged materials from ancient nuclear warheads of previous eras as by this time, decades into the war, materials and facilities to build new weapons were scarce. Ore mines were depleted as warring factions hoarded their resources. From these old materials, the engineers and weapons specialists cobbled together a new set of missiles.

Then, on July 4, 2050, twenty nine nuclear missiles were launched from various locations of the Eastern Coalition in an attack of brute force. Twenty were neutralized by the immediate defense response, three were deflected by the shields, but the remaining six missiles penetrated through to the city.

Nothing remains today. New York City was literally wiped off the face of the Earth.

On Terra, even after 200 years, there is nothing within a 30 kilometer radius of the main island. It is a radioactive wasteland. Some plants have returned to the region. There is insect and small mammal life. But the area remains empty, a gash in the ground. Nothing is left of the city that once stood. Nothing can be excavated, nothing can be restored, nothing can be rebuilt. The nine million residents, the art stored in its museums, the knowledge housed in its universities, the renowned food served on it streets and in its restaurants, the business completed in its offices, the iconic architecture of its skyscrapers, the grand parks scattered throughout its body, the vital life an entire city—all was lost. All was turned to ashes by the storm and fury.

Some historians argue that the destruction of New York served to bring about the end of the Third World War. Three years later, peace treaties were signed in San Fransisco, the newly elected international capital of the world. A few years after that, Vulcans made First Contact with Terrans. The rest, as they say, is history.

Whatever the political consequences of the act, one thing is clear. The total annihilation of New York did not defeat the city or its symbol, for what could not be rebuilt physically, Terrans rebuilt in memory. Over the years, several myths have been passed down through Terran literature, poetry, music, art, and monument. New York is the second Atlantis, consumed by flame and fire while Atlantis sank to the sea. The city has been romanticized, demonized, sanctified, desecrated, revered, renounced. It holds a place in Terran imagination as a city of extremes.

It became a legend. As legend, it was immortal.


	89. Ch 89

It is cold.

In this part of Terra, the temperature falls as the days become shorter. A wind sweeps through, amplified by the fact that the skyscrapers create long narrow wind tunnels.

Jim tilts his head to the side and motions for me to stay close to him. We join the throng of people crossing the street and walking through Times Square. Jim does not tell me his plan, though I know by the expression on his face that he has one. He scrutinizes the different stores and restaurants, then finally chooses one and enters.

"I think I left my coat here. Did you happen to see a black coat, about this length?" he gestures.

The man behind the counter frowns. I immediately comprehend his problem. He does not understand Jim's Federation Standard.

I step next to Jim. With some effort, I repeat Jim's query in pre-Warp E. He begins to nod and tells us to wait.

"I don't get it. I understood everything he said," Jim murmured.

"You have been chipped with a universal translator, Jim. Starfleet requires this of you as a captain. He does not have a similar device to assist him in comprehending Federation Standard."

"You can speak it?"

"Negative. That was my first attempt. I have studied the written form of this language. As we are immersed in pre-Warp E, I am reconstructing the spoken language from my past knowledge and by listening to those around us speak."

"Wow. You weren't kidding when you said you have a really high learning curve, were you?"

"No."

"That's why I keep you around," he winks.

The man returns with two black coats. Jim smiles widely, points to the thick wool coat, and takes it from the man. He thanks him, and the man understands the sentiment.

When we go outside, Jim gives the coat to me. "Put it on."

I do not take it. "Jim, I do not need—"

"We're gonna pull the same trick at another place, so put it on."

Jim chooses for himself a brown coat. The woman apathetically shoves the coat, a scarf, gloves, and a hat into his arms.

He gives the hat to me. I raise an eyebrow at the object, which seems to be some sort of knit cap with a slight rim, but put it on. Jim eyes brighten when he looks me in my new ensemble.

"Sexy," he laughs. He adjusts the hat so that the rim is at an angle.

It covers my ears. My head retains its heat. It is an acceptable solution.

Jim offers the scarf and gloves to me. I take the scarf, but instead of wrapping it around my own neck, I carefully wrap it around Jim's. I take a step back, examine the arrangement, and find it satisfactory. Jim gives me an inscrutable look.

"Okay. Let's go."

--

How does one find a single person in a city of nine million?

There is a theory that time is fluid, like a river, with currents, eddies, and backwash. The same currents that have swept Leonard to a certain and place may have swept us here as well. The theory has several deep flaws in it conceptualization, but we have no choice. We shall have to trust that this theory is true, as we have no means of traveling or finding Leonard in any other place. I begin to doubt that we will be able to find him in this city as well.

That is our first concern. Our other concerns are just as pressing.

We need shelter. We need food and a means by which I might extract the data from the tricorder and and analyze it. We need to know the change Dr. McCoy created in the timeline, so that we might prevent it.

A cursory observation of the economic transactions taking place is jarring. This time period still uses paper money. Their economic system is not as developed as the economy of the Federation. The concept of credits is still an idea in its infancy. I briefly look through the newspapers, which contain several references to a recent economic crisis connected to this developing theory of credits.

We need this paper money. In order to obtain that money, it is necessary to find employment. If the economy is dealing with the aftermath of a financial crisis and in the midst of a recession, it is likely that jobs will be scarce and those available with come with low wages.

Jim seemed to know my thoughts.

"Spock. We need jobs. I probably can't do that much, not speaking pre-Warp E and all. Maybe washing dishes and mopping floors?" he joked, though there was an underlying seriousness to his voice. "Prime Directive kind of limits us from doing anything related to science and tech."

I nodded. "We might both apply for employment that consist mainly of menial labor."

"Nah, just me. I bet you could be a waiter or something. You can actually talk to them. Or I could try my hand driving one of these yellow things here. I could learn to drive these ancient cars."

"Jim, you do not have a license."

"Spock," he teased, "both of us don't have jackshit in ID stuff. We're gonna haveta forge them or buy illegal copies or something. Question is, what the hell are we supposed to bring if we want a job?"

"The Federation requires different sets of paperwork for employment, residence, and credit accounts. It is possible that the bureaucracy of this era is similarly formidable."

--

"Hi, what do you need?"

"What documents are necessary in order to obtain employment?"

"Have you filled out an I-9 yet?"

"Pardon?"

"An I-9. I'll take that as a no. You need to fill out an I-9, and there's a list of documents they want to confirm that you're eligible for employment here. Are you a citizen?"

"No."

"What kind of visa are you on?"

"Tell her we're on a work visa," Jim told me. I did as he suggested.

"Do you have a green card?"

"A green card? What the hell is a green card? Whatever, it doesn't matter. Tell her we don't have one yet, hopefully that's the right answer," Jim said.

"Then you'll need something from List A here—probably your employment authorization card. Or your passport, if you have an I-551 stamp or Form I-94. After you fill that out, take it to your employer and they'll do the rest. If you get a translator to help you, they'll have to sign the form as well." She highlighted some sections and gave us two copies of the necessary forms.

Jim's ability to bluff through situations is incredible.

"Any questions?"

"Ask her what her name is."

"May I enquire as to your name?"

The woman gave me a strange look. "You have a funny way of asking things. I'm Edith Keeler, I work here part time. If you have any questions, just call this office or visit our website. You can usually find whatever you need to know there."

"Thank you very much, Ms. Keeler."

"No problem. Good luck."


	90. Ch 90

By means of a considerable amount of forgery, ingenuity, and other doubtlessly illegal activities, we have obtained both employment and housing. The woman Edith Keeler helped us a great deal on both matters, though Jim's charm and easy grin certainly sped along the process. She has been unusually generous with both her time and money. I cannot yet determine if this is an intrinsic quality of hers, or if she has some ulterior motive.

Jim and I have obtained positions at a restaurant in Manhattan. I have been hired as a host, while Jim will work clearing tables, bringing out drinks, acting as what the Terrans refer to as a 'busboy.' The terminology is rather strange. I will have to find some way to cover my ears and the upward slant of my eyebrows, as we have found that it is not acceptable for me to always wear a hat. Jim has suggested that I grow my hair out. The suggestion is not unreasonable, as current Terran fashion seems to accept longer hair on males. I believe that is my only alternative.

We have found housing in Brooklyn. The location is not particularly convenient, as the nearest subway station is several blocks away. However, the monthly rent it is within the means of our projected income, and apartment itself is relatively spacious. There is plenty of room for me to set up a makeshift laboratory to conduct the necessary nanoelectronic experiments. We learned that we had to 'put down' a security deposit and the first month of rent, as well as sign a contract known as a 'lease,' but as neither Jim nor I had earned any money, we thought we would not be able to obtain housing at all. In a surprising move, Ms. Keeler paid everything for us.

Ms. Keeler also bought for us a new change of clothing. The clothes are of low quality and they are not new, but they are clean and suffice for our current purposes. Jim plans on going shopping for new apparel when we receive our first paycheck. I am of the opinion that we should put all our resources towards buying the technology we need to extract the data from the tricorder. I have already begun to formulate a schematic and diagrams for the necessary circuit boards, given the technology I believe we may be able to obtain.

We have promised her that we will pay her back, but she simply smiled and told us not to worry and take our time. This is what makes me suspect her—I did not wish to be indebted to her so deeply. Furthermore, her motivations for this illogical act of kindness are completely unknown to me. Is it an act of kindness at all? I am not familiar with the nuances of this era's customs. Jim is not worried. For some reason, he trusts Edith Keeler. They communicated, or rather, attempted to communicate. Jim used broken pre-Warp E and hand gestures to communicate with her, while Ms. Keeler tried to interpret his message.

"You're not from around here, are you? Where are you from? Maybe Germany?"

Jim simply nodded. "Came here for to find, uhm—" he searched for the pre-Warp E word.

"A friend," I supplied.

"A friend," Jim repeated. "Missing. Sick. Needs help."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. I hope you find him. Let me know if I can help in any way."

"Thanks. Thanks for all done for us."

"Oh, it's no problem. I have some gay friends and they've told me how hard it can be to get started in the city, even though they can be themselves here. I just wanted to help you two to stand on your own two feet."

Jim gave me a sidelong glance. He shrugged. Ms. Keeler took it to mean that he didn't understand what she was saying.

"Oh, how should I say this. You can speak English—can you tell your boyfriend that I just wanted to help? I know it's a little strange, me putting down the money for rent for you, but I trust you. I can't explain how I know, but you're going to change the world. That sounds silly, doens't it? I'm not explaining myself well at all. My friends tell me I'm much too trusting and I try to help too many people, but I'm not naive. You're different. Like you don't belong in this world."

Jim straightened.

"Interesting. Where would you estimate that we belong, Ms. Keeler?"

"I don't know. I'll have to think about it."

--

"She believes us to be lovers."

"I don't have a problem with that. Do you?"

I looked at Jim. He was sprawled out on the bed. When I did not answer him immediately, he raised himself up onto his elbows and looked at me.

"You do?"

"No. I simply wanted to ensure that you were not discomfited by the suggestion."

Jim grinned, then lowered himself back on the bed. "Nope."

A comfortable silence settled between us. I turned my attention to the tricorder. The data we need is locked inside its memory banks, utterly inaccessible at the moment.

"How much longer till Bones gets here?"

"Several months, captain, at the least. Though I do not believe we will have to wait a full year. For a machine as advanced as the Guardian, it is remarkable that it is incapable fine-tuning the rate at which it goes through time."

"Pain in the ass, that's what it is."

"Indeed."

"Do we have any idea where he'll show up? Honolulu, Boise, San Diego? Why not outer Mongolia, for that matter?"

"We will have to find a means by which to locate the doctor," I tried to find a back door access point for the data in the tricorder again. "Frustrating. Locked in here are the place and moment of his arrival, even the images of what he did. If even one of the ship's computers were available to me, for a few moments."

"They've got computers. Why don't you build one with they've got here? I'll help."

"In this silicon plated, micro-chip culture? Jim, they have not yet successfully implemented their carbon based semiconductors to create the first quant-core nanoprocessor. They likely have not developed symmetric multiprocessing to its fullest potential. The datapads these Terrans carry are enormous and likely have limited computational power. I imagine the devices are extremely inefficient. As far as I can gather, they have not yet discovered N-ffts' law of heat recycling. They use _fans_ to cool their computers."

"Yeah, that'd be an extremely complex problem in logic, Spock," Jim said seriously, though his face betrayed his feelings. "Sorry. Sometimes I expect way too much of you."

I gave him a look.

"How much time till work?"

"Two hours."

"I'm gonna take a nap," Jim pulled his coat around him. We had no blankets—the apartment was completely bare except for our few belongings. "Wake me up in forty minutes. I'll take a quick shower—do we have soap?"

"Negative."

"Whatever. I'll take a shower anyway, then we'll head out, how's that sound."

"I will walk around to see if there any stores."

"Stores? For what?"

"Computer supplies, and so forth. My hobby."

"Your hobby," Jim grinned. "Great. I approve of hobbies, Spock."


	91. Ch 91

Life in this city is not what I expected it to be.

In some aspects, this pre-Warp Terran city is remarkable. The environment of New York is truly unique to the metropolis. Every day, Jim and I take the train into Manhattan to go to our jobs and I am presented with a view of the harbor. The famous Statue of Liberty is visible in the distance, facing out to the wide Atlantic Ocean. The Brooklyn bridge stands tall between the island and its namesake. As we approach Manhattan, skyscrapers loom overhead, enormous and monumental in their own right. Then every night, we take the same train back and the vista changes completely. Instead of light and reflecting windows of the buildings, the skyscrapers light up from the inside. Stars are not visible in New York, but the city creates its own field of twinkling lights. The bridge is covered with a string of lights and the combined effect, when one sees it the first time, is truely breathtaking.

But under it, there are disturbing realities. First is the fact that the kindess of Edith Keeler is the exception, not the rule. Every day, Jim and I pass scores of homeless people. They are ragged and dirty, they smell of their own urine. They drag along trashbags of their possession and sleep in the grime of the train station. There is a wild look in their eyes and they mutter to themselves. But no one stops to help these people. They pass by, looking straight through them in absolute indifference. The mask of a New Yorker is truly a sight to behold.

On the train, beggars come. Jim somehow immediately comprehended that most of these beggars are professionals. They go from car to car, down the lines of seats with a prepared speech, usually attesting to their own honesty and appealing to the qualities of kindness and mercy of humans. As I watch the other passengers, some people give a few dollars, others stare with a mask of apathy. The more I see of this city and the longer I live in it, it seems necessary to wear the same mask. Jim and I are not wealthy by any means, and could have easily been in the same position as the truly homeless. I count it a stroke of luck that we met Ms. Keeler, and that she was willing to help us as she did.

If Leonard McCoy arrives in this city in his madly paranoid state, what will become of him? We must find him, before anything befalls him. He could easily wander into a subway station and perhaps throw himself on the tracks. It is clear that few will help him. They will ignore him if they can and go about their daily lives without giving a second thought to one lost man.

New York is a city of extremes. This indifference towards human life is unthinkable for a Vulcan, and shocking for a Terran. It has taken an emotional toll on Jim. He has quickly learned to harden himself against it, though he hates the join the ranks of the indifferent. Jim wants to change this world and make it better. At the same time, he is in love with this city. He loves the rhythm of its activities, the way that it truly never sleeps. At any time of day, particularly in Manhattan, but also in certains parts of Brooklyn, there is something happening. We usually work the dinner shift at the restaurant, starting at 1700 and going well into 0100. Customers constantly come and go—this couple is going to the theatre and would like to be serviced quickly. Another group comes in at midnight, dressed to go clubbing. This pair is on a date, this woman drinks alone at the bar, here a group of business associates have come to socialize after sealing a contract.

In our spare time, when Jim and I are not researching the latest developments in this world's computer technology or arguing over the necessary design features, we walk through the city. We live near a park in Brooklyn, Prospect Park, and on weekends it is pleasant to go there. There is also an enormous park in the middle of Manhattan, a remarkable reservoir of nature in the middle of the city. It contains several lakes and ponds, along with statues and open spaces.

Jim likes to visit Chinatown and marvel over all the trinkets they sell there. The air is punget with the smell of fish, laden with the feeling of oil and grease. The people there all yell in various degrees in their native language. The cacophony of it all takes some getting used to. Then there is Union Square, a completely different neighborhood. It is younger, with an artistic feel. Artists display and try to sell their works here, there is a regular farmer's market that sells all manner of fresh produce. Terrans seems to be very concerned with organic and natural methods of farming here. Jim and I explored the Strand and its shelves upon shelves of physical paper books.

We have gone to the Financial District, where the city government buildings and major corporations are housed. There is a site of construction—it seems that the city has been recovering from a recent attack. We go to a park at the tip of the island and Jim decides to splurge, to go see the Statue of Liberty and visit a former immigrant processing center. We have walked through the region known as Midtown, where Rockefeller Center, Times Square, Penn Station, Columbus Circle, are located.

We have gone Uptown to the Natural History Museum, which contains fascinating displays. The fossil collection is truly remarkable and absolutely scientific. The museum is so large that it is impossible to see everything displayed in one day. Jim quickly became exhausted after we spent three hours going through a small section of the museum. There are art museums on the Upper East Side. Lost works of art are on full display at the Metropolitan Museum, from every Terran culture and every historical time period.

Jim has insisted that we walk through Harlem. We went to one of the lounges there and listened to the jazz artists. The band consisted of a pianist, a stringed bass player, and a drummer. The musicians improvised everything, and their virtuosity was astounding. It is something that I aspire to, but did not truly comprehend until I heard and witnessed live. The audience participated actively, moving to the music in their chairs, laughing at a particular improvisation, adding thier own beat organically to the music that flowed through the small room. Nyota once told me that jazz music reaches down and grabs her soul. I believe I am closer to understanding her meaning.

My descriptions here only cover a small portion of this city in which Jim and I live and navigate. There is so much more—I only spoke of Manhattan. Brooklyn is completely different in its pace and people. It too is divided into its respective neighborhoods. On a clear fall day, Jim and I will dine outside at some bistro, have a large brunch and while we continue to discuss our research. If life on Manhattan is fast and frenetic, life on Brooklyn seems slower and more intimate. There are old clothing stores, bookstores, cafes and restaurants of every type, clubs and bars. Brooklyn has its own museums and famed avenues. There are the Brooklyn Botanic Gardens, which Sulu would have appreciated. There is Brighton Beach, where Pavel might have felt at home. Along Eastern Parkway and in Crown Heights are Hasidic and Orthodox Jewish populations, and next to them are Carribean Africans. Coney Island is at the end of the train line. It was cold, but Jim and I walked the boardwalk and gazed out at the mottled sand and sea.

We are becoming accustomed to the pace of life here. Our apartment fills with things—blankets, clothes, toiletries, papers and drafts of schematics. We bought an old table and two chairs at a flea market. The other day, Jim got plates and durable utensils. Our days are full of research, work, exploration, and play. We go everywhere and do everything together.

Edith Keeler has joined us on several occassions. Jim counts her a good friend, and the more we get to know her, the more we find her to be a extraordinary woman. She is the only daughter of an extremely wealthy businessman—she lives on the Upper East Side. Yet she works and dedicates her time to community service. She, like Jim, wants to help this city and change it. Ms. Keeler, devotes most of her time to a place she founded on 21st Street, which helps the homeless and those in need. She runs both a food pantry and a soup kitchen, and she manages several volunteers who assist her. The number of people who visit, whether homeless or not, is large also. Jim and I have offered our own services to help her, whenever we are available.

"Hello there. Come to help out? I need someone to pour the coffee and Tom's ladling the soup, but he has to run soon. Could you fill in?"

"Yeah, sure," Jim smiled.

Edith and others hurried out as a brawl began in the hall. A man hysterically began crying.

"There aint nothing! Aint nothing to live fo' no mo'! I lost my job, they's kickin' me out of my house, I got a wife and kids dependin' on me. They thinks I got a job,they thinks I work, but that aint the truth. I aint got no job, aint got nothin' ta feed them! I'm beggin' on the street and aint no one lookin' at me like I'm a man. I'm a man! I'm a human bein'! God makes me the same as any otha' but that ain nothin' ta no one! I'm a person! But that aint shit in this city! There aint nothin', aint nothing to live fo'.

"What you here fo'? What you here for with yo' goody two shoes and yo' actin' kind? Come ta feel good about yo'self, when otha's are starvin' in the streets? What you lookin' at? Huh?!"

Edith helped the man to his feet, even as he berated her. She looked around. There were some in the dining hall who were openly watching the spectacle, and others who were steadfastly eating their food, as if nothing had happened. She cleared her throat.

"Now listen up everyone. Let's start by getting one thing straight. I'm not a do-gooder. If you're a bum, if you can't break off the booze or whatever it is that makes you a bad risk, then this isn't the place for you. I have lots of information for other counciling places who can help you get your life back on track.

"Now I don't pretend to tell you how to find happiness and love when every day is just a struggle to survive, but I do insist that you do survive, because the days and years ahead are worth living for. We've already come so far—we've harnessed incredible energy and the atom. We've reached out into space gone to the moon, sent probes to the stars. And one day, we'll find out that we're not alone. We'll meet aliens and find a new place in the universe—we send men and women to visit these new worlds and planets.

"And in that day, we'll also find ways to feed the hungry milliosn of the world and cure all the diseases. Even cancer and AIDS. We'll find a way to give each man hope and a common future,and those are the days worth living for.

"You might think I'm crazy, talking about stars and distant planets when you don't have a job. But when life gives you no hope, you have to find it in yourself. Maybe for you, it's faith in God that gives you hope and confidence. Or perhaps belief in love. But you have to find something to live for, something inside you that you can hold on to, find a way to keep fighting for a better day and better future.

"You are a person. A man, a woman. You have a life and you have a story. Sometimes it feels like no one in this city cares, that this place is as cold and heartless as it gets. But there are people who want to help—there are places you can go to get help. Let me help, or any one of us. You aren't alone, and you aren't forgotten. Remember that, and keep living. Prepare for tomorrow. Get ready. Don't give up."


	92. Ch 92

"We can't keep eating out all the time. It's too expensive."

"I see no other option, Jim."

"We have a kitchen. And a refrigerator, which we never use. I think I could figure out how to operate these gas stoves—they should be intuitive, right? And I've cooked before."

I raised my eyebrow.

"It might not taste the best, but we'll never have enough to buy all the stuff you need for the tricorder if we keep going out."

I was still skeptical. "Jim, you may continue to obtain meals from outside. I will simply forego my meals."

"What? No way. Yeah, I know you can do that, being half Vulcan and shit, but no. I'll cook. You're eating. Don't give me that look, the stuff I make isn't half bad."

"Indeed."

Jim gave me an exasperated look. "Come on, let's go get groceries."

--

"So, what d'ya think?"

I took a bite and chewed. Jim had prepared a basic meal of pasta—he scrutinized every label to ensure that everything he bought for me was vegan—with tomato sauce. He added sauteed vegetables for myself—onions, mushrooms, zucchini, and eggplant, while for himself he added meat.

"Do you like it?" Jim had not yet touched his own meal.

I swallowed. The look on Jim's face was highly amusing. Why my opinion on his culinary abilities was so important was somewhat puzzling. "Is is satisfactory."

His face fell. "Satisfactory? That's it?"

"If you should ever desire to retire as a Starfleet captain, I believe culinary school would be a viable alternative."

"You like it!"

"I never said anything to the contrary, captain."

"Sneaky convoluted bastard," Jim grinned and began to eat in earnest.

"Where did you learn to cook?"

"On my own. It was either that or live off canned soup and stale crackers for a month. Which I did."

"Canned soup and crackers, Jim? When was this period in your life?"

"Before Starfleet, after I emancipated myself from my foster parents and moved back to Iowa. I learned pretty quick how to do the basics. That, and mac and cheese. I lived off that stuff for a while. Can't stand the sight of it now."

"Mac and cheese?"

"Yeah. Pasta, well, a different kind than we're having now, with dehydrated cheese. It's gross. Don't ever eat it. Not that you ever would, being vegan and all."

"Out of curiosity, will we be having pasta every meal, Jim?"

"No. I can make other stuff too. Sandwiches, soup," he counted them off on his fingers. "We got that bag of empanadas and fifteen minute lo mein. I bought a pack of curry—we'll see how that turns out. There's granola and fruit for breakfast. I'll teach you how to make a salad, they're low key and easy to make. I think we'll be fine. And we can still go out and eat, maybe once or twice a week, just not every day."

"I would not be opposed to learning from you."

"You want me to teach you how to cook? I don't know that much, honestly."

"It is more than my skill set."

"Okay, sure. All I'll be teaching you is how to boil water and chop things, but yeah. We can get started right after we're done eating washing dishes."

--

"You missed a spot," Jim said, looking over my shoulder. I gave him a sidelong glance. He had a mischievous look in his eyes. "Right there," he reached around me and his hand grazed my arm.

I washed the spot off. "Is this satisfactory, captain?"

"Perfect, Mr. Spock." He took the dish and flicked the water in my direction.

I looked at him, half wet and half amused. He laughed.

I returned the favor. A skirmish ensued, in which we both got very wet and the kitchen floor got covered in water. When we had declared a truce and returned to the task, Jim declared,

"The floor needed to be cleaned anyway."

--

Jim and I were leaving the restaurant. It was 0238.

"God, I'm tired. That stuff they had out for dinner looked gross, I skipped it. Probably shouldn't have. I could go for some stir fry when we get home. What d'ya think?"

"That is an agreeable suggestion."

"I'll figure out how to cook some rice—I think I got one of those four serving boxes at the store—you wanna do prep work? Slice and dice?"

"What vegetables would you like to include?"

"Oh, damn, we're running low aren't we? Do you think the broccoli's still good? It's been in the fridge of a while."

"It should be useable. If not, we may cut away the bad parts."

"Do you think we'll need to make a run for groceries?"

"I think our stores are sufficient for this meal. We can improvise."

"Cool."

We stepped into the subway station and waited for a train. Shortly after we sat down, Jim fell asleep on my shoulder.

We did not make dinner. Jim's exhaustion was evident. He stripped down, fell into bed, and slept. I worked on the tricorder project, drawing up schematics for a device I could build with the limited materials available and that would be compatible with its systems. As the night grew colder I rose from my work and covered Jim with another blanket.

--

"Let's go out for lunch."

I looked up from my work. "Captain, I need to work on drawing up alternate schematics. I am unsure that our main plan is viable. We also must consider the problem of locating Dr. McCoy."

"Yeah, I know, but it's a great day outside and I've been staring at these circuits for forever. I'm not getting anywhere with them. Let's take a break and then come back to it."

I did not desire to interrupt my work, but Jim looked rather frustrated. I made a brief sketch of my thoughts in my notes and nodded. "Do you have a particular place in mind, Jim?"

"There're a few restaurants by the water—you know the park under the Manhattan Bridge?"

"They are likely to be expensive."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Wanna go into Chinatown?"

"I would prefer to stay within walking distance, and going into Manhattan will likely prove to be a distraction. You always desire to explore the island when we are there with free time. Jim, I must complete these diagrams, so that we might order necessary parts and begin to build the device."

"Okay. Tell you what—we'll walk down Flatbush and see what they've got. They usually have a lot of good stuff. What're you in the mood for."

"I am not particularly hungry."

"Humor me, Spock."

"Captain, would it not be more efficient to do as you say and simply walk down the street and pick a random venue? As long as the food is vegetarian, I have no objections."

"You really don't want to go out to eat, do you?"

"No. But you have requested my company, and I acquiesce."

"You don't have to come with me if you don't want to. Do whatever you want. It's not a big deal."

"You are certain of this?"

"Yeah, I'll just go get some pizza or something, maybe do a lap or two around the park."

"Then with your permission, I would like to remain and complete my work here."

"All right. I'll see ya in a few."

I went back to my work. Jim paused at the door.

"After you're done, and after we order shit, let's do something. How long do you think it'll take you?"

"Projected time of schematics completion is at 1800. Projected time of order completion—we will need a computer, Jim, and access to their nets. You have set up the credits account?"

"Yeah, I got that done. So probably no ordering tonight, but you'll be done with everything. So let's do something tonight. And tomorrow, after we order all the parts and pieces, we've got the day off, so let's go somewhere."

"Dr. McCoy."

"We'll think of something."

"Jim, he could already be in the city right now. Likely he is not in the city at all, and we have no way of locating him."

"Chill, Spock. Things'll work out."

I looked at him.

"It'll work. Trust me."

I sighed internally. "Then yes, let's 'do something.' I will have nothing to occupy my time."

"Great, we'll call it a date. I'll be back in a few."


	93. Ch 93

Jim squinted. He turned his head every which way. He peered. He went so close the painting that I drew him back before the museum asked us to leave.

"Nope. I still don't see it." He paused. "What'm I looking at again?"

"There is no specific subject matter, Jim. The three lines that travel across represent three horses, another iteration of a common theme within Kandinsky's paintings."

"Those three lines?"

"Yes."

"I guess I can kind of see how they're horses?" He looked at me with a dubious expression on his face. "Why is this entire display dedicated to this guy?"

"Kandinsky was one of the great early modern artists. The levels of abstraction he achieved, the degree to which he was able to separate himself from any representative art, was incredible, given the time period in which he lived."

"I've never thought that much about art. This 2-D stuff is old, you know? They called this modern back then? I mean, uh, now?"

"It was a revolution in artistic expression."

"This? It looks like a two year old could have fingerpainted it."

"Jim."

"What? I'm just saying. Just because someone decided to stick it in a museum doesn't make it good."

"The criteria by which individuals judge art is indeed extremely subjective. But," I motioned to the building in which we stood and to the paintings around us. I was at a loss for words. "You do not find that these canvases affect you?"

"They're interesting. I don't have anything against them," he shrugged.

For a long moment, I stood and attempted to gather my thoughts. I walked to the edge of the ramp and surveyed the crowd below. Jim followed me.

Ambient noise floated through the building as visitors shuffled through, exclaiming and scrutinizing the works before them. I could distinguish certain comments and conversations. Most Terrans seemed to find the paintings incomprehensible. The cadence of their footsteps suggested that they only briefly looked at each painting on display before indifferently moving on. But there were some who stood and looked. They stood and lost themselves in the folds of color, in the rhythm of his brushstrokes. Their eyes followed the meandering lines and rested on the amorphous forms. They looked, and as I watched them pass by, I wondered what they found. One viewer, after standing for seven minutes in front of the same painting, suddenly smiled, an expression of pure wonder on their face.

I gathered these thoughts and looked at Jim standing beside me. I spoke softly, almost to myself. He leaned in to listen.

"The curator of this display placed the paintings in chronological order, so that we might see the progression of Kandinsky as he strove to give true expression to his vision. You can see through the early paintings how he refines his techniques—the brush strokes that were once thick and sloppy are now fully under his control. He experiments with color and the emotional effects different combinations produce. He explores forms, going from concrete objects to abstract representations.

"Each painting has it own meaning, but placed in the context of his oeuvre, it is a remarkable vision. One can see the direction in which Kandinsky is going, but the culmination of his vision—only he could paint it. It is the journey of an individual seeking to find his true voice, and through his true voice, to find something true of his world.

"Art is one of the most subjective disciplines I have ever come upon, and for some time I did not give it the respect it was due. I did not understand it. But I find that my position has since changed. A work of art is subject to its creator, but once the artist places it on display, interpretation is completely out of his control and that power belongs to the viewer. I do not think that any painting is ever understood in its totality, as the artist meant it to be understood, just as we as individuals never understand each other in totality.

"Yet there is something to be said for striving. The artist strives to express what he thinks or feels within, and somehow he hopes that his viewers might be able to recognize that same vision in themselves. They search for the thread of truth that runs through the core of their being, create it, and trust that same thread resides in the soul of other individuals.

"That is what I have found in this. Kandinsky was daring. He was controversial. He gave up his professional career to find his voice, and even today, he is not understood, though his genius is recognized. He unapologetically pushed the boundaries of art to find truth, to free artistic expression from the realm of mundane objects and physical things.

"Perhaps this is not true of all beings, but I find his journey, shown through these paintings, to reflect my own struggle to define myself. Two diametrically opposed species, two civilizations push and pull from within and without to mold me at their own convenience. Amid the sea of their booming voices and nebulous expectations, it is difficult to hear my self, to distinguish my voice in their overwhelming chorus. The tapestry of Vulcan and Terran society is a marvelous thing to behold. But for now, I search for my own thread of truth."

I did not look at Jim, but I could feel his gaze on me.

"Have you found it?" he asked quietly.

"No. I am not certain I ever will."

"Why not?"

"When I embarked on this search, I thought the journey was secondary to the destination," I looked up at him. "I was wrong. The end is not half so important as the way we get there, and what we find along that way."

Jim was silent for a moment. He then spoke. "I think you have. Found it, I mean. You've found yourself, or whatever you're looking for, lots of times over, differently each time. I don't think this is one long journey—it's multiple journeys with multiple destinations. We reach one place and stay there a while before it's time to get going again.

"We all have questions and we all get answers—definitely not all the answers, but we get answers. But then we find new questions, or maybe we ask the same question again, and the whole thing starts over. I think it's a matter of perspective. You think this is one long journey that ends, or maybe never ends. But if you sum up all the little trails you've walked, you're gonna get one long continuous trail. So I think you have found what you've been searching for."

His eyes were intense and I felt something blossoming in my side. Jim walked towards the painting once more, pulling me along with him. He hand was on my arm, then he let go and slid his arm under mine until they were subtly linked together. He continued to stare at the painting.

"I still don't get it," he announced. "This place is making me kinda tired. Let's go and hang out at the park or something. Then we gotta get ready for work."

His arm disengaged from mine as we walked down the curving ramp and exited the museum. Jim bought himself a bottle of water from one of the vendors, drank from it, and offered it to me. I declined. He took it, stuffed the bottle into one of his pockets, and began walking. I walked with him, matching his stride and pace. I slid my arm to the crook of his elbow.

The wind was cold and the trees were shedding their foliage. There were no clouds in the blue autumn sky. The sun's rays glinted off the buildings that surrounded the park. Around us, people strolled leisurely, others sat on benches and read. There were couples in the grass, wrapped in coats but lying intimately. A girl passed, holding the leashes to seven dogs.

Jim talked, intermittently pointing out something that caught his eye. He complained about coworkers, joked about the customers, talked about plans. Duty was postponed—the weight of our mission was temporarily forgotten as we walked, arm in arm, through Central Park.


	94. Ch 94

Since Jim and I have begun to work at the restaurant, sales have risen by a considerable percentage. The old employees, the managers and waiters, tell me that tips during my shifts are also larger by a substantial margin. This monetary increase corresponds with another event. Terran men and women have approached me several times, asking me if I would be interested in getting coffee with them or going to a bar sometime. Some of these advances are blatantly sexual. Jim has also noticed that I have been lately been receiving particular attention.

"Do you like it? When they're bugging you like that?" Jim asked, bent over a box of our newly arrived supplies. He sorted through all the parts and pieces.

"I have no opinion on it. I have never received such advances before, and the concept is novel. On Vulcan, this of course never would have happened—Vulcans do not conduct themselves thus. On Terra, my reputation as a Vulcan preceded me, and no Terran or other alien approached me."

"So you do like it?"

"It is a new experience."

Jim frowned. "Do you ever feel like taking them up on the offer?"

"Not in particular."

"Good. Wait, what do you mean, not in particular?"

"I have entertained the notion of accepting one of their proposals, but no one has offered such that I would accept. Overall, I am not entirely opposed to the idea."

"_What_?"

"I am curious," I gave a small shrug. "In the past, it would not have occurred to me to consider these experiences as valid or valuable. However, since I have come to terms with the fact that I am not fully Vulcan, I believe engaging in such activities may have merit."

"You'd seriously consider sleeping with them? Because that's what they want from you."

"I do not believe that all their proposals are completely sexual, Jim."

"Uh, hate to break it to ya, but they are."

"And you are able to provide insight as to their motivations by what means?"

Jim looked away. "I just know, all right?" he paused. "You wouldn't actually go out with any of them, would you?"

I straightened. "Do you object to the idea because I am Vulcan, captain? I understand that some would consider such interaction a violation of the Prime Directive, but the people of this city seem to be completely open to every possibility. The other day we passed an individual of indeterminate gender dressed extremely flamboyantly—who looked quite alien by Terran standards—and no one paid them any notice except for a few glances. The environment here is so free, and as there is no threat of censure from anyone that I thought I might be able to experiment with my own boundaries. However, if you do not consider this to be appropriate, then I will of course refrain."

"What? No—no, that's not what I meant at all. I'd be a huge hypocrite if I told you not to do something. No, I mean, if you wanna experiment, then that's great, cool. I've got no problem with it," he rambled. "What did you mean, censure? Someone's been coming down on you for being yourself?"

"Jim, someone has always been 'coming down on me' for being myself."

"Oh. Yeah. Right. That." Jim fidgeted.

I grew curious. "If that was not your intended meaning, then what precisely did you mean?"

"Huh? Oh, nothing. Just, forget about it. I don't even know half the stuff that flies outta my mouth. I thought maybe . . ."

He never finished his sentence.

"Maybe what, Jim?" I prompted.

"Nothing. Forget I said anything. Hey, take a look at this. Is this what we ordered? I thought we told them to ship the 200 series, not the 300," he held up the videocard. "Can we still use it?"

"No. We will have to send it back. The 300 series has major modifications, what the company claims to be improvements, that render it useless for our purposes."

"Damn. How far does that put us back?"

"Perhaps if we simply placed a call to the company and informed them of their mistake, they might be able to ship our order immediately."

"Kay. I'll go call them or something. I almost forgot—Edith invited us to have dinner with her, I said I'd ask you about it. What do you think?"

"I would prefer to begin reengineering the motherboard as soon as possible. It is a delicate process that requires precision and time."

"Come on Spock. This is the third time she's asked, and we haven't been able to meet up with her the other two times. We should go."

"If you insist, captain."

--

The host led us to a small table in the corner of the restaurant. The lights were dim and on each table was a candle. Conversations floated around us. Periodically there was a laugh or exclamation. Waiters and waitresses went about their way with trays of food, filling glasses with wine and tallying checks. The environment was somewhat similar to the restaurant at which Jim and I work. It was smaller with fewer tables, and if tonight's clientele was indicative of their regular guests, the crowd was younger.

We ordered our drinks—Edith a glass of red wine, Jim a lager, and I had club soda.

"How is your project coming along? You said you were in the middle of putting everything together?"

"Okay," Jim shrugged. "Parts came today, but one are wrong. We have to send it back."

"We believe that our project is progressing at a satisfactory rate."

"That's such an interesting hobby to have, microelectronics. Why don't you get a job with a company instead of working at a restaurant? Did you get engineering degrees in Germany? I'm sure you could find work here."

Jim and I looked at each other.

"Just a hobby we have, nothing professionalism. He went to school for language, we are both in," Jim searched for the word. "Military. Went to army and now we're here. Spock is a genius working computers."

"You could make your own start up company, if you gathered the capital for it. Well, I suppose it's hard to do that right now, with hard economic times and all. My father doesn't invest much in computer startups, but he does a lot in biotechnology. Even after the Eugenics Wars, it's a booming business, though I have no idea why.

"It would be so much more useful to invest in companies that are developing space technology. I have quite a few shares in some promising tech corporations. My financial advisors think I'm wasting money, but someday, we'll get there. I just know it.

"Oh, look at me, talking about business when I can't stand it when my dad does the same thing. What looks good on the menu?"

After we ordered our dinners, Edith asked us an unanticipated question.

"How did you two meet? If you mind me asking. How long have you been together?"

I looked at the captain. He was also looking at me, his eyes searching my face for something.

"We met two years in the past. Two years ago in the military," he began haltingly.

"Really! Do they allow gays in the German military? Here there was a huge controversy—I mean, it still is very controversial. In fact, one of the New York universities here had a debate about whether they would allow ROTC, a student military program, on their campus. They voted against it because of this whole issue."

Jim frowned. "We weren't dating in the army. Met there, but didn't do anything."

"Oh. So no one knew? Then when did you start dating?"

"Only recently. Were friends first, and few months we've been dating."

"And you came to New York together, even though you've only been in a relationship a few months?"

"As you see," I replied.

"That's so amazing. And so sweet. It usually takes so long to get to that stage, from dating to living together."

Jim shrugged. "Felt—feels—right. And need to find other friend, needs help."

"Of course, I almost forgot. How is that coming along? Do you need any help with the search?"

"No, not yet. We'll be okay. But thanks much."

Jim gave me a look, indicating that I should contribute to the conversation.

"You mentioned that you have been investing heavily in companies that are developing advanced forms of space-flight. Has any of their research showed any promise?"

"No, not yet. Everyone is tinkering with improvements on the old models, but I think what we really need is an attempt to break the light barrier. But no one knows how to do it—we haven't even accelerated a single particle to light speed, so they seem to think that going at light speed for anything bigger is impossible. Still, I keep hoping. Why, are you also interested in space flight, Spock?"

Jim and I shared another look.

"The captain and I have always shared an interest in space."

"Is that how you started dating?"

Edith seemed fixated on our supposed romantic relationship.

"It is the basis of our relationship, yes," I said rather curtly.

She seemed to take the hint. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry. It's just—oh this is silly of me. But do you remember when I said you don't seem to belong to this world?"

Jim straightened slightly in his chair.

"You belong to another place, you should have been born in another time. I just know it. Both of you stick out, even in this city of nine million people. But that you happened to find each other and are with each other—it's amazing. It's as though you're supposed to be side by side, as if you've always been there and always will be." She paused. "Does that make any sense?"

"Yeah," Jim said softly, a wry smile on his face. "A lot of sense." He snapped out of his mood and gave Edith a wide smile. "Spock is private person, doesn't like talk about this stuffs," he shrugged.

"I understand. I didn't mean to offend you," she said as our food came out.

"None taken, Ms. Keeler," I said, my voice still clipped.

Jim elbowed me.

"Well, doesn't this look good?" she said brightly, changing the subject. "I had something like this at the fundraising dinner my father gave on behalf of Governor Paterson. He's the current governor of New York, right now. I'd like to get involved in politics someday too. I'm practically already up to my elbows in city politics.

"I haven't been following German politics, but I always though Angela Merkel was such a fascinating figure. The first woman chancellor of Germany, and a physicist to boot!"

Looking at our blank faces, Edith gathered that we did not follow contemporary German politics as well. Jim decided, however, that a discussion of Earth's geopolitical situation was preferable to any other form of small talk, and so nodded, gave questions, and reacted in all the appropriate places. We learned that Edith Keeler is extremely ambitious, and has hopes one day, like Ms. Merkel, to hold the highest political office of her country.

"Anything's possible now. I want to change the world, and I have some good, solid ideas for how to do it. It'll be a golden age of scientific exploration and prosperity. I know we're going through hard economic times right now, and humanity paid a horrible cost for the Eugenics Wars. But things will get better, just you watch. I'm going to change history."

--

"That was interesting," Jim commented as we walked towards the train station.

"Indeed."

We went down the stairs and swiped our cards through the turnstiles.

"I didn't think you'd play along."

"It is necessary to maintain the facade, as the original reason Edith helped us was she believed us to be romantically engaged."

"Uh-huh, right. I'm buying that. You liked watching me BS my way through that."

"You were quite convincing, Jim," I gave him a look.

"You know, sometimes you seem really human."

"Captain, I hardly believe that insults are within your prerogative as my commanding officer."

Jim smiled.

"Edith's awesome."

"She is an uncommon woman," I nodded. "However, I do not recall her name in any of the history books I have read related to this period of Terran history."

Jim shrugged. "Records are spotty anyway. Or maybe she didn't end up pursuing politics." He had a thoughtful expression on his face as he recalled the evening. "You know, I don't think we were born in the wrong time. But I think she was. She'd love it on the _Enterprise_.

"I wish we could show her."

"Jim."

"I know. I'm not going to. But there's no harm in wishing."


	95. Ch 95

Jim and I are waiting at the subway station. We have been waiting in excess of twenty minutes. The station is filling with people, many who periodically look down the tracks to see if any train is arriving soon. There is no positive sign.

When the train finally pulls up, it is already crowded with people. Those in the station form semicircle around the entry points, while those in the cars gather in front of the doors. The doors open—those within hurry out, half walking half jogging, and those without crush in to fit into the already full car.

Jim pushes his way in, his hand firmly clasped around my wrist. I would have preferred to wait for the next available train as the crowding is uncomfortable, especially given my touch telepathy. We will, however, most certainly be late for work if we do not board this train. I resign myself to being squeezed among these people.

"Stand clear of the closing doors, please," the automatic voice intones.

Jim has arranged it so that my back is pressed against the doors, minimizing contact with others. He is pressed up against me. The train jerks forward, jostling the passengers. The movement pushes Jim's body flush against mine, our faces centimeters apart.

He gives me a wry look, then smirks.

This is crazy, he communicates with that look.

I raise an eyebrow. Indeed.

--

The train pulls up. Jim steps on first, then I follow. We are standing next to each other when the train stops at a station full of people. Jim moves to make room for a passenger boarding, and somehow in the process of doing so the crowd of people pushes him farther away until he and I are at opposite exits. He tries to return to me, I try to go back to him, but in the end we simply wait until the train comes to our stop.

Jim and I exit at our respective doors. He waits for me, and then we walk up the stairs. He goes up first, and I follow.

--

The train screeches. The strange harmonic sound of metal on metal is extremely painful to my hearing. I must have made a pained expression on my face because Jim asks me what's wrong, his voice full of concern.

"Simply the noise, Jim. It is nothing."

The next day when we board the train, Jim hands me a small package. Earplugs.

"They probably won't do much, but they're better than nothing."

--

An elderly woman with a cane boards the train. Jim and I are seated. Seeing the lady, Jim immediately stands and offers her his seat. She gratefully takes it.

Jim stands in front of me. He places his hand casually on the rail above and stares out the window into the blackness of the tunnels. He leans down slightly to say something. I look up at him.

"Sometimes it reminds me of the view back on the _Enterprise_, the darkness of it," he says, nodding at the window. "But there's no stars."

His gaze is distant yet intimate, and I know that he is thinking of his ship.

"Spock, I really miss it."

"We will return to the _Enterprise_ and her crew, captain."

He nods.

--

The train jerks erratically, moreso than usual. I lose balance of my footing and stumble into Jim. My right hand reaches for an overhead handrail and the other reaches for his shoulder. When I am finally steady, Jim's hands are on my hips, supporting me.

"You got it?" he asks, keeping his hands firmly in place.

"Yes, thank you Jim."

"No problem. It's what I'm here for. Catch you when you fall, right?"

He lets his hands drop.

--

We are standing on the train. A girl seated in front of us keeps looking at Jim. At first she simply looks for half a second. Then a second. Then two seconds. She looks and gives a flirtatious smile.

Jim catches her glances and returns with a charming smile. He then looks at me, his lazy smile still in place.

I look at Jim to convey my amusement, raising an eyebrow. Jim's smile turns into an open grin and his eyes light up.

Jim turns his attention back to the girl, but she gives an apologetic smile and returns her face to a neutral expression.

He looks at me again quizzically. I make a slight movement of my head to indicate that I do not know what happened. Jim shrugs and his smile fades. But the light in his eyes still burn.

--

"The next stop is, Canal Street. Stand clear of the closing doors, please."

Jim and I are standing near the doors. He leans against them and I stand in front of him. The car is moderately full, but not crushingly so. We speak in low tones.

"Have any ideas how we'll find Bones?"

"I hypothesize that his arrival would cause a small tremor in the plane of time, sending out ripples."

"Like the ones we were mapping?"

"Exactly. They would be of much smaller magnitude, but I believe that if we can finish our current project, we may be able to use the tricorder, first modifying it in some key ways, to detect a ripple."

The train pulls up to its next stop.

"This is Canal Street. The next stop is, Prince Street."

A flood of people come on board. Jim and I are not separated, but he is pushed forward from the door and we now stand near one of the poles. He and I stand close to each other.

"And you think you can use that to figure out where he's arrived too?"

"It will be difficult, but if we able to collect data from three points, we will be able to triangulate the center of the time wave. That is where McCoy will be."

The scratchy voice over the intercom buzzes. "Ladies and gentlemen please be patient we are being held momentarily by the train's dispatcher."

"What if we don't get three points? What if the ripples fade before you're able to measure them? Do you have any alternatives?"

"If he arrives in New York City, there is a slight chance that by hacking into the police communications and setting up flags for certain words, we will locate him. That is only if he arrives in this city, however. Even that is not a certainty."

"Stand clear of the closing doors, please."

As the train begins to move, a hand comes across to grab the pole, wedging itself between me and Jim. Jim looks incredulously at the arm, then at the person attached to it. The individual is totally oblivious, listening to their music and fiddling on the other hand with an electronic device. Jim's shoulders begin to shake with silent laughter and I give him a look.

When we exit the train, Jim tugs me close and laughs, the shared joke understood between us.

--

It is late at night. Early morning, by Terran standards. We are returning from an especially long shift at work. We wait thirty minutes at the train station with two, three other individuals. Jim leans against a column, half awake and half asleep. When we get on the Brooklyn bound train, the car is totally empty. There is no one but me and Jim.

Jim is exhausted. He collapses onto the bench and stretches himself out and is asleep in minutes. I take a seat on the same bench, near his head.

Apparently, sleeping without a pillow is extremely uncomfortable for Jim. He wakes from his sleep, if one can call it waking, and slides up to me. He places his head on my leg and uses it as support.

I sit still and look out the window. We are crossing the Manhattan bridge. The sky is pitch black and the lights of the city are visible. Though the train rumbles across the tracks, there is a certain quietness to the moment. Jim adjusts his position on my leg and I look down at him.

His face is not as boyish anymore. The softness of inexperience is replaced with his knowledge of his responsibilities as captain. One can see the man he is turning into, the leader who has been tried and refined and shaped by fire. His shoulders are relaxed. His breathing is even. His face is slack, eyes heavy with sleep, mouth slightly open. His lips are chapped from the dry and cold New York air.

I wake him when we reach our stop and he walks, shoulders tense, coiled into himself, shivering from the cold. When we get into the apartment, he doesn't even take off his shoes but simply crawls into bed.

I hesitate. Then go towards his sleeping form. I take off his shoes. I coax him out of his coat. I take the scarf off his neck. His clothes are filthy. They smell of the restaurant's trash and dirty water. I find a clean shirt and the soft flannel pants he prefers and convince him to wake long enough to change. I give him a glass of water and he drinks it without any awareness, then falls back into bed and sleeps.

I return to the main room and work on our project.

An hour later, I look into his room to see how he is faring. Jim has gathered all the blankets tightly around him. The expression on his face indicates that his is not enjoying an easy sleep, thanks to the cold. We do not have any more blankets.

I hesitate. Then go towards his sleeping form. I take off my shoes. I take off my coat and coax the blankets off from the way they are twined and wrapped around him. I lie down beside him and pull him into the warmth of my body. I pull the blankets onto us and lie still. Jim relaxes. His breathing grows deeper.

When I am satisfied that he is warm and deep in REM sleep, I gently disentangle myself from his hold. I put on my coat, go into the main room, and plunge into a meditative cycle.

--

We are standing in the train station. There is a musician with a keyboard and a trumpet, playing jazz. Every time someone deposits money in his collecting box, he gives an emphatic "yeah!" and continues playing his music.

A couple near us spontaneously begins to dance to the music, circling around each other and laughing. They grow a self conscious and stop, but the woman still sways to the music, her hands in her lover's.

The train pulls up.

Jim steps on first. I follow. We stand side by side as the train accelerates and leaves the station.

Jim looks at me with clear blue eyes. "I love this city."


	96. Ch 96

"I had the weirdest dream the other night."

I looked at Jim. His brows furrowed.

"It was about you."

My eyebrows went up. "May I enquire as to the contents of this dream, captain?"

"I don't really remember. I just remember feeling really warm and safe," he paused. "Isn't that weird?"

I had no comment.

"I dunno why I'd dream something like that."

He returned to the electronics scattered before us and concentrated on attaching the wiring. I watched him for an interval.

I am uncertain as to which connotation Jim attaches to this particular use of the word 'weird.'

--

"Ready? This is gonna work?"

"Everything is accounted for, captain."

"Okay. Here goes nothing."

Jim turned on the power source and our makeshift computer whirred as everything came online.

"Is it supposed to make that sound?"

"I do not know, Jim. This is the first time I have worked with such primitive technology to build what is a standard, even low grade computer of the 23rd century. We may plug in the tricorder in the E3 port now."

Jim and I sat down to our respective screens and keyboards.

The screen before me remained blank as I waited for the processing units to boot. A cursor appeared, blinking.

Jim and I inputted the lines of code necessary as quickly as possible. Jim audibly sighed in relief when everything went through without significant errors and the computer began to extract the data from the tricorders to the external memory drives.

When approximately 93% of the data had been successfully downloaded, Jim cursed.

"Shit, circuit's overheating. Fuck, and I think we just blew a capacitor."

At 96%, Jim and I were trying to contain the meltdown when another component sparked.

We were fortunate in that the computer had completed data extraction when the motherboard went up in flames. I managed to physically remove the memory drives, though I suffered a few burns on my fingers. Jim disconnected the tricorder and then contained the electrical fire.

He looked at the charred board.

"Are we fucked? Tell me we're not fucked."

"No captain, we are not 'fucked.' This is a setback, but not insurmountable. Captain? Please get up from the floor. Though I can understand relief, I do not see the reason for such laughter."

Jim continued to laugh as he stood. "Oh god, that's hilarious. You said 'fucked.'"

--

"Well, all the data's in this memory drive now. Why can't we just load it up to another computer and analyze from there. I don't think we need to build another special computer if we have everything we need."

"The file format will not be compatible with any program available to us. It is necessary to interpret the data borrowing from the tricorder's programming."

"Then why don't we just hook it up to the tricorder?"

"It does not have enough processing power to sift through all the data it has recorded. The tricorder was not designed for data analysis, but data collection, Jim. You are aware of this."

"I know, but I also really want to know the hell all the data in this drive means. You're a programmer. I'm decent at programming. Why can't we make our own program?"

"Jim, we would have to recreate that entire language and its architecture from its very foundations. That would entail writing all the basic commands, writing the compiler programs, recreating the countless number of algorithms necessary for our specific data format, and integrating all of that to work on a single processor unit. We are used to parallel programming, while these Terran computers are still alarmingly one dimensional. What you propose would require an entire overhaul of any of the programming languages we know, which are all specifically based on multiple processors. As difficult as it was to modify the hardware, I believe it is the easier and more efficient course."

"You're kidding, right? They still work with just linear processing? These are all deterministic sequential machines?"

"Yes."

"How do they—? All kind of advanced stuff they do with graphics—?"

"They all require thousands upon thousands of lines of code."

"You mean no elegant three dimensional for-loops? Or what about quaternion whiles?"

I shook my head.

"They haven't solved the P = NP question yet?"

"No. It is one of their famous unsolved problems, and Terrans have listed it as a top priority."

"All right. You win. I'll go order the parts."


	97. Ch 97

The weather of this city is truly remarkable. Yesterday it rained continuously and everywhere on the sidewalk were enormous puddles of water. Wet yellow leaves fell and floated in these small lakes. My feet, and Jim's feet, got very damp. The small umbrellas we carried did nothing to prevent our trousers from getting wet. By the time we arrived at work, we were both dripping. Business last night was slow, as few ventured out into the rain.

Today there is not a cloud in the sky. The air is much warmer and could be considered temperate for a Terran. I am still wrapped in my coat, but Jim has opted to forego his for a sweater. The clean light of the sun filters through the trees and their leaves, now multicolored, are translucent and glow brilliant green and gold. The streets are filled with people going about their business, walking casually instead of hurrying to escape the miserable conditions of the outdoors.

Edith tells us that it is worse in the winter. Some days are clear but bitterly cold. Others are marginally warmer but overcast and grey. Always the wind blows, and no one wants to stay outside. Furthermore, the days get considerably shorter. The sun does not rise until 0700 or later, and sets as early as 1600 in the evening. All the trees and small spots of nature are dead and grey. Edith claims that winter in New York is one of the worst things a resident of the city will ever go through.

"It's better if you have somebody though. That way you're miserable together, but you're not alone.

"And the holidays in New York aren't bad. Actually, they're wonderful, the way the city decks itself out for all the Christmas cheer. December in New York is magical—you'll have to see the tree at Rockefeller Center and go shopping. It's January and February that are the worst, for me at least. Or March, right when things are constantly cold and rainy. Spring and fall are my favorite seasons in the city. Summer can get disgustingly hot. Once, I took four showers in one day. Can you imagine? Four ice cold showers!"

As our project is currently at a standstill, there is nothing we can do but wait for our new supplies to arrive. Jim and I have been living in this city for 76 days, by the Terran calendar. I estimate that it will be at least another 40 days before Dr. McCoy arrives in this time, if he arrives in this city at all. According to my calculations and given what I remember of the dimensions of the time waves we mapped and my theories concerning the mechanics of the Guardian, there is a 86% chance that Leonard McCoy will arrive at the location where he effects a change in the timeline. That is to say that the doctor will create the major dimensional shift shortly after he arrives, perhaps within 120 hours.

"120 hours?" Jim looks up at me from where he is lying in the grass. "Shit. That doesn't give us much time to do anything. That's like five days. We have five days to track him down after he gets here?"

"That is what my calculations indicate," I nod. I look at where Jim is lying and my brows furrow. "Jim, it is not recommended that you lie there. The ground is still quite damp, and you may fall ill if you are not careful."

He grins and gets up, dusting himself off in the process. There are still leaves and debris clinging to the back of his sweater, so I help him remove them.

"Want to sit down or just walk?"

"Walking would be preferable. I am slightly cold."

"I think there's a coffeeshop if we head along thataways."

"Jim, I am fine. I do not need anything. The cold is nothing."

"Uh-huh, that's what you always say. Come on, it's not like two dollars is gonna set us back that much. Let's get you some tea."

Fifteen minutes later, I have a hot cup of tea in my hands. The warmth is delicious.

Jim watches me take a sip, then nods, apparently satisfied with whatever result he obtained.

"Good?"

"Yes, thank you."

We walk back towards Prospect Park, our bodies close and our steps in sync.

"Oh, I forgot. We haveta do laundry tomorrow. I'm running outta clean socks. Did you figure out how those stupid machines work? I don't want all my shit turning pink again."

"I believe I know how to operate the clothes washing machines, yes. That unfortunate incident will not be repeated."

"Hey, don't smirk at me like that. I do _not_ wear pink."

"I do not understand why you object so strongly to the color. It is not aesthetically displeasing."

"I'm not even gonna bother to respond to that."

I looked at him.

"Quit laughing at me. That's an order," he threatened, even as his own eyes gleamed.

We walked on in silence once more.

"You know, I never thought I'd do this. All of this mundane shit like cooking and doing laundry and going to work. It's kind of different from being on the _Enterprise_."

"It has been an interesting experience to be immersed in an alien culture, particularly one that is, in our time, extinct. As enlightening as this experience has been, however, I would like to return to the _Enterprise_. That is where we belong, captain."

"Yeah," Jim said quietly. "All the same, I'm glad it's you here with me."

"I am grateful for your presence as well," I stopped and looked at Jim. "We will return, Jim. Despite the odds against us, we will get back to the ship."

"I know." Jim pointed to a tree standing nearby. "That tree over there, the one with the yellow leaves like a semicircle, or a fan. It's called a ginkgo tree. We discussed a paper about them once at the greenhouse club, back at Starfleet."

I looked at him curiously.

"Yeah, I was a member—on and off. More off than on. Anyway, these ginkgo trees, they're all over the city, practically everywhere. And I dunno if this is true, but someone once told me that you always plant ginkgo trees in pairs. Like the two need each other.

"I dunno. Ginkgos aren't native to this region, not like the oaks and maples that're in the parks. They only occur wild in Asia, I think China somewhere. All of these in the city were brought over and planted.

"Do you remember much about Earth history? In World War II, when they dropped the bombs on that Japanese city—someone at the club said that six ginkgo trees survived. Everything else in the whole fucking city died, but six trees made it. They said two are still alive today, like 300 years later.

"And these trees can live for thousands of years. I talked about it with Sulu once, he's got a little ginkgo bonsai in his quarters. Probably sleeps with that thing," Jim laughed. "But he said that it's a symbol of longevity and hope."

I waited for Jim to continue, but he said nothing more. Though his statements were disjointed and his thoughts left incomplete, I felt I understood everything he was trying to communicate.

We walked on.

A fall breeze swept through. Leaves clattered like small bells ringing on thin wooden branches. Others swirled in circles on the sidewalk, chasing after each other. Trees were progressively becoming bare as autumn passed and the deep chill of winter crept in. Time was slipping away, and the uncertainty of the future pressed on us.

For reasons unknown, as we walked I imagined two trees at the opposite ends of a city, charred black. All around them was a wasteland, a place of shadow and ash. By all appearances, the two trees were dead. But with the first rains of a new growing season, they sprouted green and gold leaves. No one witnessed the rebirth. There was no one left to record the miracle. But each year the trees sprouted until they put forward a full canopy of translucent leaves. They stood, green and gold, at the edge of forever.


	98. Ch 98

I coughed. Jim looked up at me from his work.

"That's the second time."

"Second time what, captain?" I said, concentrating on circuits before me. We had made significant improvements to our previous model and were now in the middle of assembly. Our packages were steadily coming in from various computer parts venders.

"Second time you've coughed. You never cough."

"It is true that Vulcans rarely become ill, but it is not so rare that it is unusual. There is no need to worry or take special notice of it."

"You never get sick. I'll decide whether to worry or not."

"It is your choice," I agreed, still focused on the problem before me.

"Spock, damnit, will you stop fiddling with that and look at me? How long has this been going on?"

"I am uncertain as to your meaning, Jim."

"How long have you been feeling sick? And give me a straight answer, not your convoluted I'm-gonna-avoid-the-question-by-saying-something-really-sneaky deals."

"Very well. I do not feel sick."

"Did I mention no lying? Don't lie to me. You look pale."

"Jim, even if I am operating at less than my optimal health, there is nothing you can do to improve my condition. We cannot visit the hospital here as certain facts about my biology would become evident. Even something as simple as a physician recording my temperature would cause them considerable alarm, as at my normal body temperature, a Terran would be dead. The drugs readily available in stores here are likely to have no effect on me whatsoever, as my Vulcan traits dominate. I will simply deal with my biology and wait until we return to the _Enterprise_ to receive proper treatment," I bent over again and measured a length of wire.

"So you do feel sick."

"I am fine, Jim."

"It's the cold, isn't it?"

I looked up again. Apparently, Jim would not be satisfied until he had all his questions answered. "Yes. It is the cold, and the fact that this environment is extremely damp. The rapid changes in the weather have not helped as well. I am not accustomed to such a climate."

"I'll get you a thicker coat. And they've gotta have some temperature controlling cloths or something. Things to insulate you against the cold. Edith says it's only gonna get worse. It's almost December."

"I am aware of this."

"Spock, stop being so unreasonable about this. The last thing I need is for you to die or something because you didn't take care of yourself, and didn't bother to tell me about it."

"Jim, this is not life threatening. I will recover."

"How do you know it's not life threatening? Have you been keeping up with the news? They've got that bug everyone's scared of, swine flu or something. What if you have that?"

"The thought did occur to me, but I am certain it is not a virus."

"How do you know?"

"There are certain meditative techniques I am able to use to monitor my bodily functions. It is difficult to explain, but if a virus were attacking, my immune system would register a change in status,and I would be aware of that change."

"So your immune system isn't freaking out right now."

"Not quite. The cold and rain have taken a toll on my body as a whole, and overall my immune system is weakened. That signal is different, however. It is not actively fighting anything at the moment, Jim."

Jim looked at me, still unsatisfied.

"This is gonna be one of those things where I end up saying 'I told you so.' Spock, I really don't want to say it."

"You will not have to, captain. I have the situation under control."

Jim shook his head and went back to work.

--

"Captain," I coughed violently. "I believe this is not the first time you have proven to be correct."

"Shut up Spock, this isn't remotely funny. Drink this. It's," he looked at the box. "Chamomile. Tea. I added honey. Tell me what you need and I'll scrounge around for it."

"Rest and water will be sufficient," I coughed again.

"That did not sound good."

I lay back, breathing heavily. There was slight pain in my chest from the force of the coughs.

"You have to eat something," he put his hand to my forehead. The temperature difference made me shiver. "You're burning up. We've got to get some calories into your system or you'll start cannibalising your own body for nutrients."

"An interesting phrase. It brings to mind a rather disturbing image," I replied, closing my eyes.

Jim adjusted the blankets around me. I shivered from the cold, though I was burning with fever. I could sense my immune system scrambling to fight off the pathogens that invaded my body in full force. I would have preferred to enter into a brief healing trance and wipe my body clean, but my mind was just as exhausted. I had been neglecting my meditation in order to complete our project, going through countless papers, examining thousands of parts, reading as much as I could on the forums on the nets, all the while attempting to reconcile that with the advanced technology to which I was accustomed. The times that I was not working on the project, occupied at the restaurant, or wandering the city with Jim, I spent thinking about methods by which to detect Dr. McCoy's arrival in this time.

"Spock, focus, this is important. What do you need? I can't help you if won't tell me what you need."

I opened my eyes. Lines of worry marked Jim's face and for a moment, I wanted to reach up and sooth those lines away. "Any sustenance that does not violate my dietary restrictions is fine, captain. I would prefer something easy to digest."

"Like oatmeal or something?"

"My mother often made rice porridge with spinach," I nodded. "Oatmeal should be sufficient."

"Anything else?"

I shook my head, then succumbed to another bout of coughing.

"Right. Cough drops, box of tissues. And yeah, I heard you a billion times, they probably won't help. Can't hurt to try."

I watched as Jim put on his coat and prepared to leave.

"When I'm back, I want to see that you drank all the tea and didn't get out of bed to do something stupid."

My eyes flicked to the table of gutted electronic devices.

"Like work on the project," Jim said, bending down and using the back of his hand to feel the temperature of my right cheek, then my forehead. "Do you want me to make that an order, Commander?"

"You have made yourself quite clear, captain."

"Good. I'll be back soon. Get some rest."

With that, he was gone.

--

"I haveta go to work." Jim hovered at the door. "I could call in sick. Say I have the same bug as you."

"No. I truly am recovering, Jim. The worst is over."

"You keep saying that, and I keep not believing you. You know why? Because every time you say you're fine, things get worse. It's like some sorta rule."

"The fever I experience last night is quite natural, a tool that Vulcan bodies use to purge their systems of any impurities. It is completely normal. You reacted disproportionately."

"_Normal_? You're telling me that you sweating, shivering and burning up like a fucking overloaded phaser is _normal_?"

"Yes."

"I still don't believe you."

"Humans experience fevers as well, do they not?"

"Yeah, but not ones that set their blood boiling."

"Jim, my temperature was twenty degrees lower than the boiling point of water."

"83 fucking degrees Celsius!"

There was silence between us.

"You are upset."

"When we get back on the ship, I'm gonna read every single book on Vulcan physiology, biology, and anatomy I can find."

The conviction with which Jim stated the sentence alarmed me.

"Jim," I said and made a slight motion for him to come closer. He immediately came to my side. When I made eye contact with him, I was surprised by what I found. "What must I do to assure you that the worst is truly over?" I asked quietly.

"Tell me the truth when I ask for it. Let me help. You always help me. Why can't I do the same for you?"

"Is that what you require?"

Jim shook his head. "No, you still don't get it. You're still trying to help me, asking me that. What I want is to be able to say that to you and get an honest answer." He looked at me, gaze piercing. "So?"

I exhaled, and carefully considered my answer.

"The fever was more severe than I had anticipated. My energy reserves are quite depleted and will soon need to be replenished. By the time you return from work, I will likely have eaten all the food we have in store, but still experience extreme hunger. In the next thirty hour period, I will require foods rich in copper and nitrogen, as my body builds the necessary blood cells."

Jim nodded. "Got it. I guess after this you'll be back to 100%?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Jim went towards the door. "And Spock?"

"Yes captain?"

"Thanks."


	99. Ch 99

"Ready for round two?"

"Everything is in order, Jim."

"Nothing loose, nothing's gonna catch on fire?"

"Affirmative."

"Okay. Here goes nothing. Let's bring it online."

--

"There is so much fucking data. How the hell are we gonna process all this?"

"We are looking for a focal point in time, Jim."

"I know, but what the hell does that look like?"

"Have you localized your range to this year?"

"Yeah. It's still a fucking laundry list of shit."

"We will simply have to sift through it over a period of days."

"And you already ran the program that eliminates the impossibilities."

"Correct."

"Can you try applying a sieve or something? All of these things can't really be the possibilities."

"The parameters of the sieve I applied were already very specific. This is the remaining 16% of the data that qualifies."

"How many days are we gonna be sitting here doing this?"

"At the least, ten."

"Fuck. I think my brain's gonna ooze outta my ears at the end of this."

"I should certainly hope not, captain."

--

The twelfth day of our monotonous search. Neither of us had found any significant results, but it was entirely possible that we had missed it due to the sheer volume of data.

Jim and I trudged up to our apartment from work. Jim shed his coat and went into the washroom to take a shower. I turned on my makeshift terminal and began to scan the data once more.

Then, my eye caught something. I opened the entry to investigate further. And froze.

The sound of hissing, running water.

"Edith Keeler, daughter of multibillionaire Robert Keeler, killed." The entry was dated December 21, 2009. That is approximately three weeks from today.

I quickly opened the files for the changed timeline and located Edith Keeler easily. 2017, Edith Keeler becomes mayor of New York City. The year 2024, she is elected president of the United States. The year 2026 she initiates an ambitious space program and brokers diplomatic agreements with all the major powers of Terra to multilaterally develop warp technology and share all discoveries. The year 2031 the first satellite is accelerated to light speed. Zefram Cochrane is born in 2032. The year 2033 Edith Keeler dies prematurely.

But by that time, she already significantly changed our past. Her future.

"Things will get better, just you watch. I'm going to change history."

The sound of Jim turning off the faucets. The sound of shower curtains sticking, then forcibly parted. The sound of Jim emerging from the washroom. His skin is red and still damp, his hair is darker and slick with water.

He walks across to find some clothes. As he bends, the muscles stretch under his skin.

"Captain."

"Yeah?" He steps into his flannel pants. "What's up?"

"I may have found our focal point in time."

He pulls on a shirt.

"You may find this a bit distressing."

He frowns and takes a seat beside me. On the screen are images of Edith Keeler smiling broadly, waving to an enthusiastic crowd the night she wins the presidency.

"What Edith as president? That's awesome. Why would I be upset about that? We know her future. What is that, 2024? Fifteen years from now, she'll be one of the most important leaders of the world," he reads fromt he screen. "And the first woman president."

I pull up the files from our timeline.

"Or, captain, Edith Keeler will die this year. She will be murdered late at night, on her way home from the shelter."

Jim was silent. He took over the controls of the computer and switched back and forth between the data sets of the two timelines.

"No. No way," Jim said, in denial. "They can't both be true."

"Jim, Edith Keeler is the focal point we've been looking for, the point that both we and Dr. McCoy have been drawn to."

"She—we—mankind—has two possible futures, depending on whether she lives or dies." He continued to stare at the screen. "All of history changes because of her. And Bones—"

"He is the random element."

"What does he do? Is he the one who kills her?"

"No. Without his interference, she dies. Therefore, it is likely that he somehow prevents her from being killed."

Silence once more.

"How long do we have."

"December."

"December," Jim repeated quietly. He suddenly looked tired, as if the weight of the world were on his shoulders. "December."

He wordlessly rose from his seat and fell into his bed. For a few minutes, he lay motionless, then he dragged the blankets over his body and closed his eyes.

He did not sleep well that night.

--

In our timeline, 2026 marks the beginning of the Third World War on Terra. The war lasted for 27 Terran years and cost 600 million lives. That is approximately 70 times the population of New York City.

Aside from the human cost, the war ravaged Terra. Eco-terrorists sought to destroy cities, aggressive mining policies and the unending search for resources devasted the face of the earth. The narcotic and intense nuclear warfare left several areas as radioactive and chemical wastelands, uninhabitable for centuries. For three decades, death raged on the planet as genocides and mass murders were perpetrated with alarming ease. The unresolved issues of the Eugenics Wars only compounded the severity of the conflict.

In the changed timeline, the Third World War never happens.

New York City is never destroyed. 600 million lives are not lost, humanity never faces the crisis of extinction and the sheer madness of warfare. There is a completely different outcome, all because of one woman.

Edith Keeler.

It is hard to believe that one person could change history so completely. There are various theories of history, and they represent very different viewpoints. There is the theory that history is made of the actions of a few decisive individuals. One man, one woman seizes the opportunities presented at his or her time and leads a nation, a coalition, a world, down a new path. They are focal points around with all other events are organized. Another theory of history rejects this notion completely. They claim that history is not made of a single person or a single outstanding group, but from the gradual changes that take place among the general population. Social and economic forces push the times forward. The appearance of a remarkable individual is an expression of the progress that is already taking place. The theories stand opposed to each other. One claims that leaders pull history along through their sheer strength of will, the other claims that the people push history through their sheer numbers.

Of course there is a middle ground. In the case of Edith Keeler, it would seem that she was able to capture to spirit of the times. The general force of the masses desired expression, and she was to translate that feeling into policy and diplomacy. Edith came to power at a critical point in history. The same events that led up to the Third World War appear, but she, in an unprecedented move as the mayor of New York, somehow diffused that situation. She formed a partnership among the major cities of the world, elevating the status of cities from subordinate to national goverments to important figures in international relations. She took a bold step away from national politics to focusing strictly on the international arena, and shaped her policies with an almost Wilsonian idealism.

At any other time, this venture might not have worked. However, when the crisis took place, it was not the nations who successfully mediated, but Edith Keeler and the mayors of the new coalition. From there, all of history turns.

Edith Keeler became extremely popular. In 2024, she was elected the first President of the United States and she implemented the same policy of openness that she had so successfully created for the city coalition. The policy underwent some significant changes and its scope was reduced, but by the year 2026, all the major powers of Terra signed a treaty to multilaterally devote research and resources to space faring technology. Breaking the light barrier became an international project, supported by all governments and subject to the same rules. Edith imagined that all would profit from this venture. She reignited the idea of space exploration in the minds of the general public, and there was a sudden increase in both intellectual and monetary investment.

This brought on Golden Age in scientific research. It corresponded to a general mood that swept the world. There was optimism, a belief in the ability of man to tame nature and reach out as far as he might. In many ways, it is comparable to the Enlightenment Era of the 18th century, or the Renaissance. Space flight was not the only technology that was investigated. The renewed interest in science benefitted all fields. Human living standards increased. Poverty was reduced. Death rates decreased. Climate change was brought under control. In 2027, scientists accelerated a particle to light speed. In 2029, they accelerated an apple. In 2031, they equipped a satellite with warp drive and launched it into space. In 2032, Zefram Cochrane, the man who would finally outfit an entire ship with warp drive, was born.

In 2033, Edith Keeler died of a rare disease. She never lived to see her dream of sending man deep into space. Perhaps her death is another turning point in history, or perhaps the events that follow are equally inevitable. But after her death, things began to change.

Edith's successor was competent, but he did not have the same ability to inspire, nor the same ability to delicate manage international relations. Furthermore, though these events brought scientific and economic prosperity, the consequences of the Eugenics Wars were still unresolved. Humanity would deal with this suppressed issue not through warfare, but through colonization.

After Edith's death, Terrans quickly developed warp capability. In 2035, they built a vessel manned by one Terran and sent her on the first manned mission outside of the immediate solar system. In 2038, they built a scientific vessel manned by three astronauts. When they attempted to lauch the ship, however, it blew up before it left the atmosphere. It was agreed among scientists and the major powers that it was necessary to build an advanced space station or a base on the far side of the moon before any such launches could be attempted again. The project to build the first space dock was completed in 2045, and shortly afterwards Terrans broke the Warp 2 barrier. Manned missions, however, were still out of reach.

By this time, private corporations desired to use the warp technology to mine resources from other planets. Debates were held, treaties were drawn, and Terrans one by one set up bases and primitive colonies on neighboring planets. Mars was colonized first. There were several difficulties related to making the planet inhabitable for Terrans, and pressure dome technology was developed. Terrans learned to fine tune their control of environmental systems, there were accidents and deaths related to malfunctions, but with each successful colony, Terrans grew more optimistic, and perhaps greedier, for more space. In 2051, Terrans sent the first successful five man mission out to space. They returned with amazing samples and scientific data, but they did not encounter any civilizations. Terrans began to build larger ships as the crews expanded from five, to seven, to twelve, to twenty.

In 2056, a Terran politician seized on the old idea of Manifest Destiny. It became a popular belief among Terrans that their species was destined, due to superior intellect, genetics, strength, and so forth, to expand across the galaxy. There was nothing to stop them from taking over each star system they encountered. In 2060, this same politician democratically united the world under his rule. The Golden Age, the progress of science and economics was fading and Terrans began to experience hardships again for the first time in thirty years. This leader, rather than address the internal issues that brought about these breakdowns and implement much needed reforms in the governmental system, presented space—specifically colonization of the planets beyond—as the answer. Terrans were inclined to believe him, and they continued to build new colonies, even as the bureaucracy and government of the United World slowly decayed.

In 2063, Zefram Cochrane made First Contact with a Vulcan. The Vulcan ship landed in Bozeman, Montana. By way of greeting, Cochrane took his shotgun and killed what he feared was an invading species.

After extensively studying the Vulcan technology, Terrans were able to launch whole armies into space. Zefram Cochrane had the honor of manning the first warship with advanced warp capability. Each Terran ship was outfitted with a new insignia. It is a picture of planet Earth impaled with a sword. Zefram Cochrane manned the first battleship of the United Terran Empire.

From that point forward, Terrans swept through the Alpha Quadrant, conquering as they went. They subjugated the Vulcans, Denobulans, Andorians, Orions, and Tellarites. Initially, all of these species were enslaved. However, some of these policies were changed and certain species were given status as second class citizens. After the first Vulcan rebellion, however, Terrans in power became paranoid and the society, which was once democratic for Terrans, became a tyranny. Rights were gradually revoked, suspicion reigned, propoganda dominated the lives of all, until the Empire was a complete dystopia.

Freedom became a thing unknown, a memory passed down from slave to slave. As the centuries passed, meaning of the word was lost.

There are two theories of history. One states that everything hinges on the choice of a single person. Another states that history is not made by a person, but people.

But what of this, when two sides of history pivot on the life of one woman, and her life lies in the hands of one man? What of this, when by chance and circumstance one man, whose own life has already been affected by a shift in time, must choose between his past and another's future?

I stand by him, at a loss. What does one choose? Can I tell him that Edith Keeler must die? Her death brings about the Third World War, the destruction of this city and the death of 600 million people. It brings about our future, the United Federation of Planets, and we will go back to the _Enterprise_. Her life brings about a Golden Age of peace, technological progress, and prosperity, followed by birth of the Terran Empire, a dystopia of tyranny, slavery, and paranoia.

Save her, and millions will live who did not live before. Kill her, and millions will be enslaved who were not enslaved before.

--

"She was right. She's gonna change the world," Jim laughed mirthlessly, shoulders sloped.

He stood and went to the window. I followed him.

From our window there are two trees. They are almost bare, leaves stripped from the branches. The few leaves that are still attached seem to cling to remain. As a wind blows through, the leaves shiver and shudder until they are finally borne away into the sky, down to the ground.

_Do you remember much about Earth history? In World War II, when they dropped the bombs on that Japanese city—someone said that six ginkgo trees survived. Everything else in the whole fucking city died, but six trees made it. They said two are still alive today, like 300 years later._

"We weren't born in the wrong time," Jim said, half to himself, half to me. I watched his reflection in the window. "And she wasn't either. She would've love it on the _Enterprise_. She would have fucking loved it on the _Enterprise_.

"Spock."

"Captain."

"What kind of universe do we live in that things have to work out this way? What kind of fucked up place is this that freedom—you, me, Bones, the _Enterprise_, the goddamn Federation—comes at the cost of 600 million people?"

I had no answer.

"Spock." His blue eyes stared out at the trees that leaned towards each other.

I stepped closer to him, wanting to reach out. My arms stayed motionless.

"Whatever you choose, captain, I will stand by you."


	100. Ch 100

"Whatever you choose, captain, I will stand by you."

He stands, apart from me. He stands with his shoulders back and chin up, eyes burning fiercely. Jim looks up at the sky but the stars are not visible in this city. There is too much light pollution. The only lights visible are those of Manhattan's skyline, and it is a poor substitute for the deep spread of the galaxy.

He is searching for an alternative. Jim does not believe in the existence of no-win scenarios. He is considering everything he knows, everything he has learned and is searching, ever searching for a third option. But here, the only third option is to remain in this timeline and create another, one completely different from our past and Edith's future. Then we would run into the problems of paradoxes, infinite loops, and the crushing probability that the third alternative may lead to more loss, bloodshed, and slavery than the first two combined.

Jim knows this. As a third option, it is unacceptable, so he searches for a fourth. All the while, the time of McCoy's arrival marches closer and closer. Jim will have to make a decision. He feels he must make that decision alone.

I can see what this is costing him. It costs him hours in lost sleep. He does not eat, but exercises obsessively. He takes what solace he can from working his body to the limit, losing himself in the smooth push and pull of muscle. Jim's body is taut like a dancer's. Every part of him is slim, toned and well defined. The angles of his face are becoming sharp and pronounced. I am reminded of the days leading up to our mission on the Tsimtseng colony. Now, as it was then, there seems to be nothing I can say or do to prevent him from slowly destroying himself. Yet I know that the burden of his impending choice is nothing compared to the aftermath. I would do anything to spare him the decision he will make, and the grief that will follow.

I would kill for him, I would lie for him. He need not ask it of me—it is not something he would ask for. Jim would prefer to shoulder all the hardships on his own and spare everyone else the consequences. He insists on taking all the responsibility for his actions and the actions of those subordinate to him, whether or not he is legally held accountable. He feels it is his duty as a captain. And in this situation, where the lives of millions hang in the balance, with no clear answer as to which timeline is better or worse, Jim feels the weight of those millions of lives keenly. He sees it every day in this city that never sleeps, this city he loves so dearly, this city on the edge of forever.

I would do anything to help him.

I would die for the captain. If my death could relieve him of the pain he feels and the burden he carries, I would gladly lay down my life. If it could somehow return him to our original timeline and the ship he loves, I would offer my lifeblood here and now, without hesitation. If that sacrifice on my part could help him in any way, I would give both body and katra up to the unknown blackness of death.

But such a gesture is useless here. For in the end, it is still Jim's decision. I have not been asked to give up my life for his sake. Jim has been asked to choose.

The only thing I can do is stand by his side.

What kind of choice is this? The choice between a city and a ship? Between freedom and slavery? It is true that the Federation of our time is free, while the Empire of Edith's future is based on tyranny. What cost was that freedom? Is it worth the cost? What is freedom, this abstraction that comes at so high a price? Compared to the lives of men and women, compared to the vibrant life of a city, what is it? Can one hold it? How is it that men who are slaves yearn to be free, but men who are free think nothing of it? Most of all, why does this choice rest in the hands of one man?

Yet I can think of no better man to make the choice. For there are men who would avoid the choice altogether, deciding nothing, paralyzed by indecision or overwhelmed by the magnitude of their responsibility. Inaction itself constitutes a choice, a choice in which there is no meaning or justification. There are men, like Leonard McCoy, who would choose to save the life of Edith Keeler because they believe that there are certain principles which are absolutely right or absolutely wrong. The right to life is inviolable, and the mandate to protect life is equally binding. Abstractions are secondary to life itself because without life, there are no ideals to consider or hope for. In the face of death, the question of freedom is utterly irrelevant. As long as there is life, there is hope for higher things, but life must be there first. There are other men who would grasp at freedom. They might remove themselves from the choice by standing at a distance. They might reason that they are not making a choice at all—the choice was already made when history was written hundreds of years ago. The loss of a city and the loss of Edith is not personal, simply an unfortunate casualty caught in the crossfires of history.

But for Jim, the choice is at once personal and universal. He will not shrink from this question. It is slowly killing him, but whatever choice he makes, he will know fully what he is giving up. Once he makes his decision, he will abide by it and will not apologize for it. However, whichever timeline is abandoned, it will be remembered by him and he will grieve for all the lives affected, whether they be in death or slavery. His memorial is not a hollow gesture, for Jim has tasted of death. He witnessed a massacre on Tarsus, a pointless killing that resulted in the death of his mother and his stepfather. And though Jim has never been enslaved, he knows the true worth of freedom and its rarity. For freedom, in its broadest sense, is the ability to define oneself and live according to that truth.

In the impersonal annals of history, such a remembrance is a useless thing. A memory, one man's grief is small and helpless against the tides of time. The legends of New York, its mythical status as the City on the Edge of Forever are pale and wan compared to the reality we have lived. As a legend, New York is immortal, but immortality is a shade, a poor substitute for life itself. Edith will be remembered. Her potential, the promise her life held will pass through centuries and live on in our memories. Her kindness and generosity cannot be forgotten. But these words can never replace her vivacious spirit and love of life. Her ambitions will never be realized. Her future will be cut short. A memory is no compensation for that loss.

And what the _Enterprise_? What of the lives on that ship, the friendships formed and the rare place we have found and created for ourselves in this vast universe? I have lost my mother and my home planet. I stand to lose my sister, my friends, and my colleagues. I stand to lose the one place I have found acceptance. For though New York is free, the indifference exhibited by its nine million inhabitants is not the same as the acceptance freely given by the crew on our ship. What of Vulcans? Our planet has been destroyed, we have been brought near extinction. Am I to live to see my species enslaved as well? For the both of us, Jim's choice is personal and universal. However, whatever he chooses, I will support him in that decision, regardless of my gain or loss. I would die for him—so I will stand by him.

Jim knows the cost of death. He knows the inadequacy of memory and its inability to compensate for a life lost. He once gave a speech at a funeral of a crewmember, when he first abandoned the official Starfleet script.

"He'll be remembered by us. A memory's a horrible replacement for the real thing, but it's better than nothing. And we'll keep reaching out to the stars, and new people, and new planets. And every new creature we meet, ever star we see, it's like part of all those people who've died on these missions is touching out too. It's an echo, a ripple that spreads out in space.

"That's really why we're here. We carry the memories of people who've passed, the memories of people we've seen, the images of the people we love. And maybe, maybe some sliver of them is passed on and survives in every new person we meet, every new friendship we make, every new species we discover. And those are the voyages of the starship _Enterprise_."

_You always plant ginkgo trees in pairs. Like the two need each other. It's a symbol of longevity and hope._

_This is how it's supposed to be, Spock. You by my side, as if you've always been here and always will be._

He stands, apart from me. His eyes blaze as he looks at the Manhattan skyline, searching for stars and lives and options.

I stand beside him.

_Entreat me not to leave thee, and to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God; where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried; the __Lord__ do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me._

I would die for the captain. But that is not what is needed of me at this moment. Perhaps someday such a moment will come, and my words will be tested. For now, I simply stand at his side, ready to share in his sorrow and offer an outstretched hand of support. I watch as he stands apart from me, looking up at the sky and my katra resonates with three words.

Let me help.


	101. Ch 101

December 16, 2009.

Dr. McCoy is due to arrive in the city at any hour. Jim and I have been collecting tricorder readings all around the city. The signals are extremely weak, but the time ripples are present.

We have spent the whole day in different parts of the city, gathering data. The process of triangulation is surprisingly quick and relatively easy.

Leonard McCoy will arrive somewhere in the Bronx. We are uncertain exactly where he will be, nor do we know how he will come into contact with Edith Keeler.

"It is possible that he will do something to the murderer, and will never come in contact with Edith, captain."

"Yeah, it's possible. I don't think it's gonna happen that way though."

"Do you have any data to support this hypothesis?"

"No. I know how I usually know. Just a feeling. He's gonna get to 21st Street somehow. Edith's gonna run into him."

"What do you plan on doing next, Jim?"

"Working at the soup kitchen every day. You too. That's our best bet."

--

December 17, 2009.

No sign of Dr. McCoy.

We return from a long day at the restaurant. Our final day. Jim and I informed the manager of our formal resignations.

Jim is, as usual, exhausted. We worked shifts at Edith's shelter, then immediately went to work from there. He takes a quick shower, brushes his teeth, and curls into his bed. After he is finished, I bathe and sit on the floor to enter into a meditative cycle.

I cannot concentrate. I cannot force myself to be tranquil.

I get up from the floor and check on Jim. He has the blankets cocooned around him and his shoulders periodically shake. He is cold.

I do not hesitate. I unwrap the blankets from his body, lie down beside him, and draw him close to me. I pull the covers back on top of us and lie still, my arms holding him.

And freeze.

Jim's arms come around me and they grip me with desperate strength. He is not asleep. He is awake. He is not shivering from cold, though his body shakes. His face is damp.

We lie there. Jim's body is tense but as the minutes pass, the muscles relax. His breathing evens out from gasps and sobs to the steady rhythm of light inhales and exhales. At one point, when I think he is finally asleep, I try to disengage from his embrace but he does not allow me to leave.

"Stay," he whispers.

Something in my side clinches at that word and my chest tightens. The moment passes.

I stay.

--

December 18, 2009.

No sign of Dr. McCoy.

"Wow, I've been seeing you two a lot lately. Don't you have to go to work?"

"Nope. Quit our jobs. Manager was being idiot. Me and Spock looking for work, but thought we might help while we have time. Thought maybe your idea is good, to go into technology job."

"Oh, that's wonderful. I'm so glad to hear that. I have to go and deal with these forms, then I have to run to get dinner with my dad, but I thought maybe we could go see a movie sometime? I'll be out of town for Christmas. Dad is throwing a party at our house in Connecticut, and I have to be there. But I'd like to see you before Christmas."

Jim looks at me, then back at Edith. "Sure. How is December 20?"

"Perfect. Oh, wait. Oh, no, I'm booked for dinner that evening."

"Late night video?"

"If you're up for it. We're keeping the kitchens open late for the holiday season, so if you work a late shift, we could catch a movie after I close up. How does that sound?"

"Good. Sounds like a plan."

"Great."

Jim concentrates on pouring the coffee. He avoids looking at me.

I do not know what decision he will make.

--

December 19, 2009.

No sign of Dr. McCoy.

Jim and I are walking across the Brooklyn bridge, starting from Brooklyn and going into Manhattan. Is a clear day, bitterly cold. The wind cuts through all my layers and chills me to my marrow. Jim's ears are bright red, but otherwise he seems exhiliarated. Another gust blows and Jim inhales deeply. For the first time in several days, his expression is free.

We do not say much as we travel along the length of the bridge. Jim periodically stops and stares at the view. At a certain point he gazes out on the harbor, where the Statue of Liberty stands. Then his eyes travel along the cables and he intently studies the structure and engineering of the bridge.

The sky is pale blue and the light of the sun a luminous yellow. Tourists gawk and point, taking pictures with their cameras while others stuff their hands in their pockets. Another strong blast of cold air. There are cars below us, visible through the gaps in the wooden planks.

Jim takes his time, walking and looking. He looks back at the distance we've covered and the people streaming by us, he looks forward to Manhattan and its skyscrapers glinting in the sun. I search his face for any outward sign of his thoughts or emotions, but there are none. He is simply living, breathing for the moment and briefly forgetting the decision that draws near.

When we reach the other side and finally step foot on the island, Jim links his arm with mine. The remainder of the day, we spend wandering through the city without plan or purpose. Jim's eyes travel over everything, as though he is trying to memorize every scene he comes across.

But even as he intently watches a flock of pigeons fight over a piece of bagel, every so often he looks up at the sky, searching.

--

2344, December 20, 2009.

"If we hurry, we can catch the B or the D. Or we could take a taxi, I don't mind paying for it."

We entered the subway station, swiped our cards, and went through the turnstiles.

"Thanks, but let's see with the trains. What're we seeing?"

"A Brad Pitt movie."

"What?"

Edith looked at us curiously. "You know, Dr. McCoy said the same thing. I would have thought you two would know who Brad Pitt was, especially since he filmed _Inglourious Basterds_."

"McCoy?! Leonard McCoy?!"

"Well, yes. Is he your friend? He's at the shelter, he's been staying the night because I haven't found a place for him to stay, but—"

"Stay right here. Don't go anywhere, stay right there. Spock," Jim began running.

He and I sprinted down to the shelter.

--

2352, December 20, 2009.

"Bones!"

"Jim! Spock? What the hell are you two doin' in this crazy place? I must be hallucinatin' somethin' fierce."

"We'll explain later. Come on, let's go back to the train station. Edith's waiting for us there."

"You know Edith Keeler?"

"Yeah. She helped us a bunch while we were looking for you. When'd you get here?"

"No idea. Two, three days ago? That cordrazine really put me through the spinner. I still think I'm kinda loopy."

--

0011, December 21, 2009.

We enter the train station.

A scream.

Leonard immediately sprints forward and jumps over the turnstiles. Jim and I run after him. We are on the platform when we hear the rumbling of tracks and a person standing frozen in the middle of the tracks. A beggar is nearby, a mad look in his eye as he stares at the spectacle and waves at the figure like a lunatic.

It's Edith.

McCoy is about to run and somehow rescue her from the lights of the train bearing down, but Jim grabs him and holds him back.

The train arrives in the station, Edith's final screams indistinguishable from the screech of the train's emergency brakes.

"You deliberately stopped me, Jim."

Jim let go of Dr. McCoy and braces himself against a wall. He is breathing heavily.

Leonard goes to him. The train conductor and the passengers on board are coming out of the cars. They are making calls for an ambulance and paramedics.

"I could have saved her. Do you know what you just did?"

I placed my hand on Leonard's shoulder, pulling him away from the captain.

"He knows, doctor. He knows."

--

0017, December 21, 2009.

Edith Keeler is dead.

The scene before us melts and turns to fog.

--

"What happened, sir? Yeh only left a moment ago."

Jim is silent.

"We were successful."

The Guardian glowed. "Time has resumed its shape. All is as it was before. Many such journeys are possible. Let me be your gateway."

"Captain, the _Enterprise_ is up there," Nyota says, looking up from her communicator. "They're asking if we want to beam up."

Jim stares for a moment at the Guardian. He turns his back on the gateway.

"Let's get the hell out of here."


	102. Ch 102

"Jim, what happened down there—back then?"

Dr. McCoy, the captain, and I were all in Sickbay, our medical needs attended to by Nurse Chapel and M'Benga.

"All three of you, please change into these," Nurse Chapel handed us a pile of shapeless tunics. "You know where dressing rooms are."

Jim took a tunic and immediately began to strip down. I followed suit. Dr. McCoy picked up a tunic, walked towards one of the changing rooms, then stopped and looked at Jim. His eyes widened and brows furrowed.

"Jesus Christ, what the hell _happened_ to you? Why d'ya look like you haven't eaten in a month? Where the hell's my tricorder? Chapel!"

"Bones, just lay off for now, will ya? You're not on duty. I'll tell you about it later, but I've just had a 30 hour day—"

"32.6 hours, captain—"

"Whatever. A long day, running around looking for you. So just, leave it," Jim violently tugged his tunic and attempted to reach the zipper in the back. He was unsuccessful, and the zipper caught on the cloth. "Damnit!"

I stopped in the middle of dressing and touched Jim's arm. It fell limp to his side. I unloosed the zipper from the snare and completed the process. Jim immediately turned around and did the same for me.

"Thanks," Jim breathed.

I nodded, then walked to my assigned biobed.

Leonard McCoy looked at us, a strange expression on his face.

"What?" Jim bit out, scrubbing at his face.

"Nothin'. I'll go get changed."

"Bridge to Captain Kirk, Bridge of Captain Kirk."

Jim got up tiredly from his biobed and went to a nearby terminal. I followed behind him. Dr. McCoy joined us.

"Kirk here. What's up."

"I'm sorry captain, but there's an urgent message from Starfleet, top priority. Shall I put the feed to you directly?"

"Yeah, put me through."

Admiral Nogura appeared on the screen. "Kirk," he frowned. "Did something happen on this last mission?"

"Nothing major, admiral. If you don't mind me getting straight to the point, my communications officer said this was really urgent, sir?"

"Yes. Commodore Travers sent us an incomprehensible distress signal from Cestus-3. We've been trying to contact that planet, but no one's able to get hold of them. The _Enterprise_ is the closest starship in the region. Find out what happened and report back as soon as possible. Push it for all it's worth. That outpost is valuable, right on the border of uncharted territory, and we can't afford any more breaches in our security."

"Understood sir. I'll let the crew know immediately."

"And Kirk?"

"Yes sir?"

"Eat something, for God's sakes. You look like the living dead. Nogura out."

Jim leaned against the terminal.

"Why the hell did you accept that mission, Jim? You're in no condition to stand! I'm gonna declare you unfit for duty—"

"Bones, you're the last person who can tell me that. You were compromised by cordrazine, remember? M'Benga still has to give you a psych exam to see if there were any damages."

"Don't give me that bullshit, Jim. Spock, help me out here."

"Captain, you require rest."

Jim gave me a quelling look. "I've got orders. This is an emergency. Bones, you stay here and get checked out by M'Benga. Spock, meet me on the bridge in ten minutes."

Dr. McCoy sputtered. I followed the captain out of Sickbay and went to my quarters. After I changed from the medical tunic to my uniform, I remembered my clothing from New York. Before reporting to the bridge, I quickly went down to Sickbay.

I found my clothes where I had left them. Right then, a nurse moved to take the clothing.

"Please leave them."

The nurse looked at the articles dubiously. "But Commander Spock, they're filthy."

"Nevertheless, please do not remove them."

The nurse gave a small shrug and nodded. "Yes sir."

"Thank you."

I carefully folded the clothes in the pile—my shirt was missing. I called the nurse back and enquired whether he mistakenly confiscated it. He shook his head.

"No one's touched them, sir, as far I as know. I'm sorry."

I nodded. I took the coat, trousers, and hat—even the socks, one of which was a shade of pink—back to my quarters. They needed to be washed. I stowed away the clothes in a safe place and made note to myself to find some time in my schedule to wash them. The image of laundromat in our neighborhood came to mind.

We are back on the _Enterprise_.

We have been assigned to another mission. There is a surreal quality to the situation that I cannot shake.

The walk through the corridors to the bridge is jarring. For the men and women of the _Enterprise_, only a few hours passed since Jim and I beamed down to the planet. The intervening months do not exist for them.

I quickly suppress all feeling. Reflection and meditation will have to wait. I cannot afford to take even a few hours to adjust to the change. We have a new mission.

--

I entered the bridge. Jim was already giving orders, his voice sharp. All of the crew looked at him apprehensively.

"I want the fastest possible route for Cestus-3 at maximum warp. Tell the people down at engineering to give us an extra boost. Lt. Shu, do you have a course laid in?"

"ETA in 6.3 hours, sir."

"Giotto, are you there?"

"Yes sir."

"Prep some security teams for me. We've got ourselves a situation on Cestus-3, they sent out a distress signal, no one's answering calls from Starfleet. Be ready for anything, as usual."

"Understood, sir."

"Nyota, what are you doing on the bridge? Go get some sleep. I might need you later."

"I could say the same for you, captain." Nyota then gave me a look.

"I'm going to, but I gotta look to this shit first. Go. That's an order. I might need you and Sulu at the top of your game later, when it really counts."

Nyota sighed. "Aye sir."

"Communications, did Nogura forward you a copy of the distress signal Cestus-3 sent out?"

"Aye, sir. We've already got a team of analysts on it. We'll have the information ready as soon as possible."

"Spock, deep scans show anything?"

"We are still too far from the planet to determine the cause of the communications breakdown."

"You think that might be all that's going on? Maybe a faulty distress signal, a planetwide systems failure?"

"No. If that is the case, then the nature and contents of Commodore Travers' distress call are particularly unusual."

"Yeah, you're right. We're never that lucky."

Jim looked as though he was going to collapse from exhaustion.

"Captain, I will take the conn. You require rest."

He looked at me, eyes grateful. He gave a weary nod. "Let me know if anything happens."

"Of course."

"Spock, I—" he reached towards me, but did not complete his sentence.

"Yes, captain?"

"Nothing. I'm glad we're back. Don't break my ship."

Before I could make any reply, he left the bridge.

--

"Spock to Captain Kirk, Spock to Captain Kirk."

Jim appeared on the screen. Sleep had taken some of the edge from his expression, but it did nothing to soften the harsh lines of his cheekbones. Nevertheless, his eyes were alert and gleamed with a deep fire.

"Yeah?"

"Captain, I believe you should be here. We are approaching Cestus-3, and the scans of the planet give cause for alarm."

"In plain Standard?"

"We believe the outpost has been attacked."

"Shit. I'll be there. Put the ship on Red Alert. Get the crew together."

"Understood, Jim."

"Lt. Commander Scott, the captain needs you to stand by in the Engineering room. We have a situation."

One by one, the on-duty communications officer called our crew to the bridge.

"Lt. Uhura, please report to duty immediately."

They all came to the bridge within five minutes of receiving the call, carrying cups of coffee, straightening their uniforms, but alert and ready to serve.

"Lt. Sulu, the captain needs you on the bridge. Please report for duty."

They logged into their respective terminals, calmly checking in with their stations and running standard calibrations and diagnostics.

"Lt. Chekov you are—"

"_Da, da,_ I am already there."

When Jim finally entered the bridge, they all turned to him. I stood. With a nod, he acknowledged them, then came to me. We shared a look. I then turned to relieve the on-duty science officer, and sat at my station. Jim took the captain's chair.

"Spock?"

"Sensor scans indicate that the immediate area of the outpost has been subjected to a high energy weapon, similar to that of our phasers. However, there is a substantial amount of debris scattered, which would indicate that this weapon is more primitive in form. The technology of the enemy is such that they cannot exert fine control over the energy state of the matter they seek to destroy. This results in the explosion of the target, and the trail of debris."

"Find any human pieces in the wreckage?" his voice was calm, with underlying steel.

"Data forwarded to my terminal shows that there are life forms, but they are not humanoid. An unidentified species, captain. It is possible, however that there are survivors."

"These aliens have to come from somewhere. Chekov, have anything?"

"Nothing, keptan."

"Maybe behind our blind spot?"

"I am doing telemetric calculations, sir, and there is no way ship can be there. Maybe they have grounded their ship on the planet."

"That's an idea. Spock, scans?"

"Negative. Likely the ship has left."

"And will probably come back to pick them back up. Uhura, what's up on communications?"

"Just confirms what Spock told you. The distress signal was probably sent out at the time of the attack. Afterwards, their communications systems were likely destroyed along with the outpost. The message doesn't contain much in the way of strategic information, only that this was totally unexpected and the species isn't any we've encountered before."

Jim sat for a moment, processing all the information. He made his decision.

"Sulu, call up Lt. Lubensky for replacement. You're coming with me. You too, Spock. Uhura, you've got the conn. Chekov, you're her First. Kirk to Sickbay."

"Chapel here, captain."

"Is Bones clear?"

"He is, but he's sleeping right now. Do you need him?"

"Yeah. Tell him to meet me in the transporter room in twenty minutes, stocked with a med kit. We might be going into a battle."

"I'll let him know, sir."

"Giotto, give me three squads, armed with phasers and your choice of long range weapons, whatever everyone's comfortable with. Grenades on everyone, and extra phaser cartridges. I'm leading first, Sulu's leading second, and Lt. Kelowitz's leading third. It's a rescue mission, snatching survivors from hostile, nonhumanoid opponent."

"Aye sir."

"Spock, any more details on the species yet?"

"They are not warm blooded. Bipeds, two arm-like appendages, vertebrae, and their mass is considerably greater than ours."

"Did you catch that, Giotto?"

"Yes sir. I'll let them know what they're up against."

"Goddamnit, Jim, what the hell have you got yourself into now?!" Dr. McCoy exited the turbolift.

"Bones. Cestus-3 was attacked. There might be survivors. We're going in to get them."

"You can't transport them out? Why the hell are you gettin' ready for battle?"

"At the risk of transporting the aliens too? We don't have anything to lock onto yet—we're not even sure if there are any survivors. But even if there aren't, we need to know what the hell happened. There are aliens down there and they mean business."

"Ah. So you go for the shoot first, ask questions later type of diplomacy."

"Bones, don't fucking question my orders right now, not when shit is going down. I didn't shoot first. This is the edge of Federation space, uncharted territory, and some aliens attacked a Federation outpost. They're willing to kill, and I'm not gonna go down there unprepared. Now are you coming with us or not?"

"Yeah, Jim, I'm comin' with ya. Just wanted ta make sure you knew what you were doin'."

"Jim? What's all the commotion about? I got a call sayin' yeh needed me down with the engines. Can't a man get some sleep on this ship?"

"Scotty, we've got a situation. Forget the engines, I need you in the transporter room to beam us down. Uhura's got the conn, she'll fill you in on everything later. Keep my ship flying. Everyone has their orders?"

There was a chorus of "aye sir" and "yes captain."

"Let's go."

* * *

A/N- A very different take on TOS: "Arena"


	103. Ch 103

"They're not expecting us."

Jim was looking at the lastest map and surveillance produced from sensor scans and high resolution aerial photos. The positions of the aliens and the surrounding area were laid out before him near the transporter room.

"They are not even aware of our presence, if their activity is any indication. This central building is the current position of most of the creatures. They have set up four small outposts, one of which has heavy artillery weapons."

"Any chance we can just beam into their central command and go for the jugular?"

"There are some indications that they hold are holding prisoners in there."

"I can't beam yeh inta the building, Jim—I might beam yeh into a wall. Or a water tank, for that matter. The best I can get yeh is near the door, but that might not be much at all in terms of military strategy."

"We have to hit the outposts first, captain. Pasha just forwarded these topographical maps to me, and they definitely hold the high ground. They turned that building," Sulu pointed "into a fortress. We need some on the ground surveillance before we tackle that thing."

"Lt. Sulu is right, sir. My squad can lead the attack on the artillery outpost."

"Okay, Kelowitz. You've got it. Lt. Marquez, Ensign Oktawiec, you guys go on recon. Get me as much info as possible on their position and report back. Sulu, I think we can think of these three outposts as one big outpost divided into three parts. You and me, we'll take that. Bones, you're with me."

"Heard ya the first time, Jim."

"Spock, I've seen you at target practice with a phaser."

"There are advantages to a mathematically precise mind, captain."

"I know, and it shows in your marksmanship. How are you with a sniper rifle?"

"I have never used it."

"Giotto, get my First Officer a sniper rifle with an thermal scope. Spock, there's a terminal right there, go and memorize the user's manual now with that amazing learning curve of yours. We'll figure out the little kinks in your machine on the fly. I want you as sniper on my team."

"What about the last outpost, sir?"

"It's closest to the center, and it looks like it's the smallest. We'll take one when we've regrouped and going for the main hub. We're keeping communicator signals to a minimum. Don't use them unless you have to, we don't know what kind of technology they've got. Anyone have any questions?"

"No sir."

"Scotty, send Marquez and Oktawiec in first. Get them somewhere with plenty of cover."

"Aye, sir."

"Energize."

--

The area was eerily silent. Heavy debris, the remains of buildings, were scattered everywhere. The officers immediately spread out and went into defilade. From my vantage point, I could see tall biped lizard-like creatures at their outpost. Jim was surveying the situation intensely.

"Fuck, are those anti-spacecraft rocket launchers?" he breathed. "How the hell did we not notice those in the maps?"

Several of the lizards were busy assembling or loading an enormous weapon.

Sulu ran to Jim. "Did you see the cannons?" Jim asked.

He nodded. "It's worse, captain. There are three, one for each part of the outpost. As far as I can tell, the three outposts are connected by trenches forming a kind of triangle, with their big guns at each corner. They shouldn't be expecting a ground attack, but I got glimpses of some sorta machine gun setup."

"They're setting up a base to launch an invasion."

"Looks that way, captain. Maybe we should call up to the _Enteprise_ and ask them up there to take care of the job."

"No. They're be able to take out the first launcher, but those other two would punch holes into my ship. We're gonna assume that they're fully operational. And I don't want to give away the fact that we've got a ship up there in orbit. Let them think we're some survivors or escaped their attack."

Jim looked back at the outpost, then back down. "All right. Here's what we're gonna assume. Those trenches they've got probably give them access to the entire battery and give them some cover from an aerial attack. The machine guns are there to cover a land based assault—that's what I would do. We're up against some really thorough and smart bastards. Got a count on their numbers?"

"No idea."

"Spock?"

"Negative. They do, however, outnumber us at least three to one."

"Fine. We're gonna establish a base of fire, move under it hard and fast with two squads. Bones, you stay out of this until it's over or someone needs you. Sulu, put Bailey, Pashaei on enfilading fire. Take the rest of your guys around the left. I'll draw their fire from the right. Okay, go."

Sulu went back to his position and informed his men of the plan.

"Hoontrakul, take Ranney, envelop right give covering fire. As soon as you see that Sulu's got the first cannon, I want you to blow that thing to pieces."

"Aye sir."

"Spock, take out their machine gunner first, on my signal. I'm gonna go around and tell the other guys what's going on."

I nodded. I looked at the rifle in my hands and inhaled. Then I readied myself and trained the rifle on the lizard. Jim returned to my side.

"Go."

I fired. Black blood oozed from my first target. There was a commotion on the enemy line as they slowly went to their stations and drew their weapons. Jim and his squad kept firing. Then, an enormous explosion.

The lizards had discharged one of their weapons. Though they were slow to take aim and fire, their weapon fired instantly and was enormously powerful. The colossal piece of cement behind which Lt. Spisak was taking cover exploded in a shower of rubble. Spisak screamed as the jagged pieces tore through him and left him a bloody mess.

"Fuck. Spock, keep firing. Bones!"

Jim ran to the fallen security officer and dragged him back to the doctor, taking cover behind another piece of debris. Around him, all around us, the ground exploded with showers of dirt and crushed matter as the lizards fired on us. I continued to methodically kill them, falling into a smooth rhythm. There was noise, inhuman screams of lizards, the smell of burnt blood, the familiar sound of phasers discharging. Chaos all around us. Jim returned to my side and continued firing.

"Come on, Sulu," he said under his breath.

The rock before us whined. Jim grabbed me and threw me to the ground, dropping down beside me. We were crawling away when it exploded with a deafening sound.

"Go find cover!"

Then there was another massive explosion, but the quality of its sound was different. Jim and I looked up, and I could discern the form Lt. Sulu in the outpost. The remaining lizards were fleeing from their former position, but they could not move quickly to escape the relentless phaser fire of Sulu's squad.

Jim barked out orders. "Let's go, let's go! Follow me!"

His security squad emerged from their positions, running towards the captured outpost. We were being fired on by the other two outposts. Every around us, materials exploded, dirt flew up and obscured the view. The smell of lizard flesh hung in the air. Several security officer vomited. Dr. McCoy was the last to enter the outpost.

"Where's Spisak?" Jim yelled. He was barely heard over the sound of all the explosions.

"Lost him, Jim. They shredded him to pieces."

"Hoontrakul blow that cannon out."

"Yes sir on it sir!"

"Spock, Sulu, Maass, Dean, Jalena, Ghirardei with me on the next gun! The rest of you stay and keep this location secure. Hold this outpost, do you understand. Pashaei give us some covering fire! Fuck—grenade!"

The grenade sizzled as it fell into the trench, then exploded. Lt. Ghirardei lay on his side, arm bent at a strange angle. He had no legs. Blood spread from a point on his abdomen and all over his uniform. Jim checked for signs of life, but all could see there were none. He paused for a second, then quickly looked at the rest of his attack squad. They were uninjured. Jim inhaled to get a hold of himself, then began to run down the trench to the second gun. His men followed.

We approached a bend. Jim stopped, looked at me, and pointed with his head. I went, quickly took a glance and saw three lizards, two manning a machine gun and one with his phaser. I calculated, turned, and killed all three creatures with three neat shots.

Before we continued, Jim gave orders. "Maas, Jalena, you still have your grenades?"

"Yes sir."

"Me and Sulu will be in front. You throw over us and take them out. Spock, you take the rear."

Jim waited for Maas and Jalena to get ready with their grenades. When they nodded, he started running, shooting his phaser as he went. Lt. Sulu followed quickly behind. As we approached the second outpost, the two security officers launched their grenades. Jim and Sulu did not stop, but ran in after the explosion. One lizard managed to lock his weapon onto Maas and exploded the lieutenant's body. Blood and bone was scattered everywhere, smearing everyone's uniform. When the location was finally secured, another lizard stood and dropped his weapon. His words were incomprehensible.

"Shut up," Lt. Dean screamed at the creature, shaking. Blood oozed from his hair down the planes of his face. "Shut the _fuck_ up!"

The lizard continued to speak, hissing.

Lt. Dean blew its head off with his phaser. Jim looked on, Lt. Maas's blood streaming down his face. He said nothing, only putting a hand on Lt. Dean's shoulder for a second. Lt. Hoontrakul appeared. He immediately began procedure to destroy the second cannon.

"How's everyone on their phaser cartridges?" Jim yelled over the noise of the blasts.

"I'm all out sir!" several of the officers screamed back.

Lt. Ranney and Lt. Pashaei joined us. "Sir, just want to let you know sir that Lt. Kelowitz and his squad have joined us sir. McCoy's tending Ensign Weintraub, but other than that no casualties to report. They're keeping the first outpost secure, and we've been coming under a lot of fire from the third outpost and a fourth location, but we can't figure out where it is. We think it's somewhere near their third rocket launcher."

"You guys have grenades and extra cartridges?"

"I've got all three of my grenades and brought some ammo for you, sir, figured you'd need it," Lt. Pashaei offered.

"Good job. All right, Dean, Jalena, stay here and keep this gun secure. Sulu, Ranney, Pashaei, take the last rocket launcher, usual drill. Grenades first, then fire. Spock, you fall back to the first outpost, find that fourth location, and take it out. I'll follow you in a sec."

I immediately left. As I turned the corner, the sound of Lt. Hoontrakul detonating the cannon reverberated through the area.

When I returned to the first outpost, the security officers gave a start. Dr. McCoy grabbed me.

"Why the hell are you covered in blood?!"

"We lost Lt. Maas. This is his blood. If you'll excuse me doctor, I need to fulfill a mission."

Most of the fire on us originated from the third outpost. That was quickly reduced as they came under attack from Lt. Sulu and his security guards. The fourth location came from a point near the third outpost but removed from the trenches. From the sound, I calculated that there were four lizards who were pounding us with their machine gun and phaser fire.

Jim appeared. "You figured it out?"

"Affirmative. I estimate that they in that corner," I pointed.

Jim nodded. "Sulu's got the third gun, but these guys still stand to pick us off with that phaser of theirs." He made a decision. "Follow me."

We went back to the third outpost. I could make out the figures of some lizards. They were still concentrating their fire on the first outpost.

"Fuck, that looked bad," he remarked at the last explosion. "They're making us waste ammo." Jim looked at me intensely.

"Think you could take them out?"

"Their figures are somewhat obscured. If their attention were directed here, their positions would change and I could snipe all of them. But I can do it from here, Jim." I hoisted my rifle and took aim.

"Don't miss, Spock."

With those words, he left the trenches and began to run on the open battlefield. My breath caught. There was no time for thought—the lizards saw him, and began firing along his path. As they did so, they changed their position, making themselves more visible from my vantage point.

I quickly fired five rounds in succession and a strange satisfaction filled me to see the black blood ooze from the creatures. I watched Jim roll into the trenches and I quickly made my way back to him.

He looked at me. He was covered in grime and blood, but his brilliant blue eyes were trained on me.

Dr. McCoy approached Jim from the other side.

"You goddamn _idiot_! Never pull a stunt like that again, James Tiberius Kirk, or I will kill you myself and dance on your grave!" Leonard examined Jim for injuries while helping him to his feet. "See how you like that, you whoreson sonuvabitch!"

"Just doing my job, Bones."

"Don't give me that crap. When we get back on the ship I'm gonna have you sedated from here til the next doomsday!"

"Casualty count?"

"Maas, Spisak, Ghirardei dead, Weintraub and Kelowitz wounded."

"Kelowitz too?"

"Yeah. They locked onto him, but Bailey thought quick and phasered the man's leg off."

"His whole leg?"

"That's the part they locked onto. I've got him sedated. The phaser was a clean cut, sealed the wound. Minimal blood loss."

Jim was silent. Sulu and the other security team members joined us.

"Let's regroup. We've still got their headquarters to worry about."

--

"Jim!"

Nyota's voice, panicked, came over the communicator.

"Uhura, what's going on?" Jim asked in low tones.

"We're coming under attack. Unidentified ship quartering in. I've put shields up but I don't know what to do!"

"Lt. Uhura, I've trained you in battle sims before. Don't panic. Just do what you've always done."

"Jim, I could lower shields and bring you up. Captain, you need to be here."

"Lt. Uhura, I placed you in charge of my ship. Don't put down shields—I need you to do whatever you need to keep her flying. Is that clear?"

"Jim—"

"It's captain, to you, lieutenant," Jim replied, a mixture of anger and detachment in his voice. "Stop making this personal. I chose you to be in command up there, I chose you to train for a command position, so now use what you've learned and fucking keep the _Enterprise_ in space. Control yourself, stop making this personal, and consider us expendable. Did I make myself clear, lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir."

"Use phasers, photon torpedoes, take the _Enterprise_ out of orbit, if you have to."

"Understood, captain."

"Report back when everything's settled. You can do this, Lt. Uhura. Not a 'served to the best of your ability,' but you _will_ succeed. Got that?"

"Aye, sir."

"Kirk out."

--

"Marquez, report."

"We heard the battle going on at the other outposts, sir. The lizards did too. They've been working on fortifying themselves, and that fourth outpost that wasn't such a big deal, is now. They're spread between the that central building, and that hill there."

"They lugged out some form of machine gun. There's five of those killer things on that hilltop, with a bunch of lizards besides. And either these guys have been doing target practice, but they've blown up everything that that might give us some cover. All of this rubble here used to be perfect little hiding places for us. Now, we've got a flat plain."

"They're entrenched in that position and have the complete advantage. It'd be suicide to attempt an offensive."

"We've gotta take them down and recapture this planet. This might be the first of an invading force. Any sign of prisoners or Federation survivors?"

"We think they're alive, sir, no guarantees."

"Then we're going in. We've just gotta find a way."

"Sir, every inch of that plain is presighted. We can't do it with just these weapons, they'd slaughter us. We need every man we've got."

"Sulu, Kelowitz, what weapons did you guys scavenge from the outposts."

"We got a few of their disrupters, some grenades, a couple of their machine guns."

"What's the range of the disrupters."

"Not far enough to get to them from here. They take a while to lock and load, sir, compared to our phasers."

"This is what we're gonna do. Kelowitz, do you feel up for this?"

"Anything to help, captain."

"Know how to operate these disruptors?"

"Yes sir."

"All right. You're gonna fire these randomly—lock onto something as close to that hill as you can. Just make a lot of dust and dirt fly into the air, and create some craters we can use for cover. Everyone else, run and stay down. Let's hope their machine guns don't have automatic infrared trackers.

"Spock, use your thermal scope and get rid of those fuckers."

"Understood, captain."

"But don't hang out in one place too long."

"And then what, captain? Whadda we do after getting cover?"

"From that range, you should be able to take aim and get some shots in from there. I want people with disruptors to lock onto those bastards and blow them. If you don't have good cover, then fucking keep moving. Sitting still you'll be perfect targets to get blasted into red mist."

"We're gonna draw fire from their central building, captain."

"I know. Just keep moving. We're faster than they are. Use your speed."

Ensign Carroll vomited.

"All right. Kelowitz, ready?"

"Aye sir."

"Start firing. Everyone else, after my signal."

The officers secured their weapons. Lt. Kelowitz's firing his weapon caused the lizards to fire their weapons as well. Dust clouded the field and craters appeared.

"Go."

Jim sprinted out into the haze. His figure disappeared in the spray of dirt and pulverized debris.

The officers sprinted after him, adrenaline pounding through their veins. The rush to the head, the thrill of coming so close to death, the explosions and whine of the weapons in the all consuming dust. Cries as some officers fell tripped and fell into craters, screams of battle lust. Or simply the steady gasps and the sound of footsteps pounding on the rocky plain.

The thermal scope showed me the blurred shapes of the lizards. I combined that image with my eidetic memory as I took aim. I calculated the length of my stride, counted the number of steps, recalled the positions of the lizards, raised my weapon and fired. Fired. Fired. Then ran again as a spray of rock and dirt burst up in front of me.

Dust was clearing as I neared the hill and I fired again, this time able to see my target. A lizard slumped over. I fired again. The ground beside me exploded and I ran forward, taking cover. Jim was there, looking up at their fortress.

"There's still at least two guys alive and gunning. We got the rest with disruptors and phaser fire. And you took out two guys. Spock, I need you to get the other two. Get in there and give me some firing discipline."

I nodded. At that moment, a grenade landed in our crater. Jim immediately put his body over mine and it exploded.

By some miracle, neither of us were injured.

"Holy shit, that must've been a dud." Jim was shaking.

There was no time to think. I rolled over, took my rifle and looked up at their position. My vantage point was not ideal. I reloaded the phaser cartridge, jumped out of the crater, and found a new position. I would have ten seconds before the lizards lock their machine onto me.

Plenty of time.

I looked, calculated, took aim, and fired. One down. The other turned his attention to me. I looked, calculated, took aim, and fired. He was only injured. I fired again.

I returned to Jim, who was climbing out of his crater.

"All clear, captain."

"Everyone up the hill!" he ordered immediately. "Get up there, move it move it! Sulu, headcount."

"All accounted for sir, except Kelowitz. Hoontrakul got his arm ripped off by one of their grenades, and Doc says Oktawiec sprained his ankle and broke a rib and his collarbone when he fell into a crater, but no casualties. They say they're still going with you, captain. They can walk and hold a phaser, so they want to go with you."

"That's for me to decide."

"Thought you'd like to know, captain."

"Thanks."

"Hey captain?"

"Yeah?"

"How'd you think to do that. To use their disruptor to create that screen of dust that would give us cover from their weapons?"

"Made it up. It's what a lot of military tactics boil down to—distract the enemy with something, so that they can't see what you're actually planning. There's tons strategies for accomplishing that, but that's the idea behind it. Have a goal. Figure out a way to get it done. The best way to get it done is to hide your purpose. Even two seconds of distracting them can make a huge difference. If you keep that in mind, the rest is improvisation."

"Still, I never woulda thought to do that."

"Yeah you would. When you've got a bunch of guys all looking at you like 'what do we do next, captain,' you'd think of something."

--

"The last sensor scans we took from the _Enterprise_ said that there might be Federation prisoners in there. What do you think."

"They're dead. Either that or tortured for answers, and then killed."

"I don't think you should jump to that conclusion, Dean."

"Did you _see_ what they did to Maas? Huh doc?!"

"Calm down, Dean. Your argument's got merit. Why do you think they'd be alive, Bones?"

"You guys are soldiers. Rules of war are different for soldiers and civilians."

"No, they're the same. The civilians just don't have any way of fighting, so they get fucked over," Lt. Hoontrakul retorted.

"Well fine, what if you assume that there aren't prisoners in there and you go blazing in with your phasers? What'll ya do if you come into a hostage situation and they're holding their goddamn disruptors to the head of some child? The last scans said there were prisoners and survivors in here, damnit, and you beamed down to the surface to rescue them! That was the purpose of this mission, before it got bloodied and convoluted!"

"Both of you, shut up and pull yourselves together. We walked into a fucking trap, and it sucks, but that doesn't change the fact that we're still in it. So until we get back on the ship, keep it together and stay focused.

"Hoontrakul, Oktawiec, and Weintraub, you guys stay here and attack their building with all the artillery that's here. The rest of you will come with me and Sulu. We'll be the main assault on their building. Spock, you meld with one of the lizards to figure out if there are any prisoners and where they are. If there are prisoners, then both teams are rescue ops, is that clear? The prisoners are our first priority. After they're out, we can just pummel their building from our position.

"If there aren't any prisoners, then this turns into all out search and destroy, maybe get some intel on them. Got it?"

"Yes sir."

"All right, Jalena, Ranney, you take their machine guns and put them to good use. Sulu, pick your team, I'll take the rest. Bones, what do you wanna do, stay or go?"

"There might be prisoners."

"There might not."

"I'm still goin'."

--

It was a bloodbath.

The lizard creatures were ready for us inside the building.

I am soaked in blood. Jim is soaked in blood.

There was only one prisoner, barely alive. The others showed signs of extreme torture. They were executed by means of decapitation.

We secured the building against all odds, but it was a bloodbath. Only eleven of the original thirty two away team members are alive. Dr. McCoy sustained some injuries. Lt. Sulu almost had his head blown off by a lizard.

Nyota called in, forty minutes after everything was over. The _Enterprise_ has sustained casualties and damages as well. Lt. Commander Scott was among the number of wounded, though his injuries, according to Nurse Chapel, are not critical.

Jim beamed down a security team to sweep the area. He beamed down a team of scientists to take scans. There are no surviving lizard creatures. He has been in communication with Admiral Nogura for the past twenty minutes, giving his report and receiving new orders.

He has not changed out of his soiled uniform nor has he had time to wash himself of the blood and dust. The iron rich Terran blood has dried and left a rusty red-brown. The oily black blood of the lizards is under his fingernails.

We are to find and pursue the alien ship immediately. We are to leave a small team of personnel on Cestus-3, then warp out and track the whereabouts of the lizard creatures.

Only eleven hours ago, Jim and I watched Edith Keeler die.


	104. Ch 104

"Captain's log, stardate 3046.2. We are in pursuit of the alien vessel that destroyed the Federation outpost on Cestus-3. They're in our sights.

"Captain's log, supplemental. I haven't slept for 70 hours."

--

A booming voice with no body.

"We are the Metrons. You are one of the two crafts which have come into our space on a mission of violence. This is not permissible. Yet we have analysed you and have learned that the violent tendencies of your species is inherent."

Jim quickly stood from his captain's chair and addressed the empty space. His eyes burned. "Inherent, but not uncontrollable. We apologize for the invasion of your space—though I'm not aware of any treaty recognized by interstellar governments that declares this region of dead space as part of your solar system. Furthermore, that other ship attacked a Federation outpost, massacred all the residents there, without warning and without reason. I can't let a threat like that go unaddressed."

"A well considered argument. However, we find it necessary to intervene and resolve this conflict in the way most suited to both Terran and Gorn traditions. We have prepared a planet with a suitable atmosphere. Two of your deputies will be taken there, as well as two deputies of the captain of the Gorn ship which you have been pursuing. There, the dispute will be settled."

"My deputies? No. If you're going to hold anyone responsible, take me down there. I'm the captain of this ship, it's only fair that I go down there."

"The measure of a leader, captain, is not only in his actions, but also his example. The conduct of your subordinates reflects on you—that is the test we pose to you and the Gorn leader.

"Your deputies will be provided with a recording-translating device. They will not be permitted to communicate with you or the ship. They will be totally alone. The place we have prepared contains sufficient elements for either party to construct weapons lethal enough to destroy the other, which is in accordance with the intentions of both ships. The contest will be one of ingenuity and strength. Results will be final."

"You can't do that. You can't just appear on this ship and tell me that two of my people are going down to battle against an unknown alien species just because you claim this patch of space to be yours. What the hell are you measuring and what the hell is the point of this? No one's been caught in the crossfires—you're simply inserting yourself into this for no good reason and two of my lieutenants might _die_ for it!"

"The point of this is to resolve the conflict between yourselves and the Gorn. That had already been made clear."

"We can settle this in diplomacy, not in the arena of battle."

"You should have considered that solution before attacking the Gorn, captain."

"I'm not letting two of my crewmembers die because I ordered this ship into this sector—"

"There will be no further discussion. It is done."

Nyota screamed, then the sound suddenly cut out. She was gone, as was Lt. Sulu.

--

"Have you tried overload?"

"Aye, sir. It does no good, for the life of me I cannae figure it out."

"How about bypassing the transformer banks? Feed into the impulse engines directly."

"I tried that too, Jim. Nothin'."

"Chekov, do you have anything on the force that's keeping us here?"

"_Nyet_, sir, there is nothing in the sensors that I can be reading. Only that they are emanating from the solar system up ahead."

"Chekov, give me something to work with here. It is gravimetric? Magnetic? Electric?"

"I am hafing nothing sir. I am sorry."

"Keep working on it. Spock, how are they holding up?"

"Lt. Uhura and Lt. Sulu are both alive. Their two Gorn opponents are alive as well. That is all I can tell you, Jim."

"Spock, try and get a line of communications open with the Metrons, whatever they are. Target that solar system."

"Understood, Jim."

"Jim, what're you gonna do?"

"I'm doing everything I can, Bones, every fucking thing I can think of ."

"What's the point of getting hold of the Metrons? They're not in the mood ta negotiate with you."

"If I can talk to them, there's always a chance they'll change their mind."

"And if you can't? If you can't even get a hold of them?"

"What do you want me to say, Bones? I'll wait. I'll wait for those fuckers to drop a line on my bridge to tell me who won. And if they come back with bodies, I'll bury two of my best friends and remember their battlefield." Jim stared at the viewscreen. "There's nothing else I can do except hope I trained them well enough to survive this."

"Spock? Where are they," Leonard demanded.

"They are on a planet, doctor. Out there somewhere in a thousand cubic parsecs of space, and there's absolutely nothing we can do to help them."

--

"Captain!"

Mr. Scott came bounding onto the bridge, along with an entourage of engineers carrying various devices.

"What, what the hell is this, Scotty?"

"I think, now I'm not sure, but I think I can give yeh a video feed of what's goin' on down there. It's not perfect, but it might do in a pinch. At least we won't be sittin' herein the dark."

"Wait wait wait. How the hell are we gonna get a video feed. They don't even have communicators on them."

Mr. Scott was frantically untangling wires and plugging then into various ports. "Dr. Tisartisfow's been fiddling with his long range scope for a while to take videos of what is it yeh said?"

"I set up a system to take pictures of stellar phenomenon at the rate of 20 frames per second. That's almost a continuous feed. The resolution for picking up two objects as small as a human will be pretty bad, and it's just an aerial view, but like Mr. Scott said, it's better than nothing. Pictures will be pixelated."

"And this lady here, Ensign Danielech, has created a program to for automatic focus on Sulu and Uhura."

The engineer did not look up from her laptop. Her fingers flew over the keys. "I've programmed the scope to follow the movements of Lt. Uhura and Lt. Sulu. The movements of the scope are controlled by six robotic arms, so things might get a little jerky, sir."

"No problem, good work. Scotty, you said video. Does that include audio?"

"We've got audio sir. But given our distance from the planet, there's a big lag between the action and audio. I've deployed some cheap remote control sensors to get closer to the battle planet to boost audio quality, but processing and retransmitting that signal to the ship contributes to the time difference."

"Ready, lads? I think I've just about finished the wiring. This here's a mare's nest, but it'll do in a pinch. Captain? On your command."

"Do it, Scotty."

"All right, booting up the sequence. Fong, did ya reset the viewscreen for this?"

"Yes, sir."

"Right then. Here goes nothin'."

The viewscreen before us provided an aerial view of wide desert plain.

"_This_ is what they meant when they said inhabitable? How the hell are you supposed to make any weapons here? Throw sand at the lizards?"

"There may be resources yet, Jim."

"Where are they?"

"They should be right at the center of your screen, captain. I think they're both together, maybe taking shelter from the sun near this canyon here. Dr. Tisartisfow, can we get some better resolution for 35º34'?"

"That's Boyé's department. I'm maxed on resolution right now."

"Giving you image mods sir, upping contrast and applying filters." The image before went blank, then showed an new image with changed contrast and color values.

"First of the audio coming in, sir."

The bridge went silent.

"—nt keep running. We're just wearing ourselves-zzkr zrt. I've seen them in action—they're slow, but they've got energy to spare-t-t-t. You saw them throw that boulder like it was nothing."

"I think you've been hanging around Jim too much, Sulu. Honestly, your idea to go charging into the Gorn was not the best."

"I didn't think I could take him out. I was giving you time to get away."

"That's-rrrrrqzlh thought, but no. We're a team, and I can take care of myself. I'm not some damsel in distress for you to rescue, Sulu. But thanks. The thought's appreciated."

"No prob."

"How's your shoulder feel?"

"I think I pulled a muscle."

"It's swelling—"

"OW! What thsssszzz- - - Don't grab me like that, Nyota. Jeez, warn a guy."

"You've sprained it! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'll be okay. Seriously, it's not a big deal."

"Let me look at it—"

"Okay, if you're not a damsel in distress, I'm not a wounded soldier for you to play nursemaid. Deal?"

"This is different czland you know it."

"No it's not."

"Fine, deal. - - - z-z-z- qqqqgcbheslbbhdahes do you think?"

"If I were them, I'd split up. It'd be a better strategy in terms of scoping out the area and finding those materials the Metron talked about for a weapon. But they're probably used to this kind of climate since they're reptiles, and we're not. They've got more home field advantage, so it's safer for them to go off on their own."

"But you don't think we should."

"We're a team. Captain always says that two heads're better than one. We'll think of something. I think we should work the intelligence angle, instead of the brute force angle."

"There's another way to go."

"What?"

"Diplomacy. We've got these translator devi-kchtekrrkrrkrr-ces. If we could meet with them, talk to them somehow—"

"Uh, did you see them? I agree with the captain, they were hostile from the onset and they're gonna stay that way until they've killed us."

"Jim was so shocked by the carnage back on Cestus-ee-ee-eehcbh that he assumed thvvvvv massacred the people at that outpost. We never gave communication a fair shot."

"They fired first. It was too late to talk when they're the ones who follow the 'shoot first, explain later' philosophy."

"It's still an alternative to participating in this forced battle to the death. And there's never a bad time to begin talks—even failed talks, at least there was some communication and an understanding. -- -- -- ssssssezhlch- right?"

"Nyota, listen to me. I was down there. I saw what they did. We don't have a choice but to fight this and win it."

"Sulu, I was fighting too, remember? I was commanding the ship while the Gorn were firing on us and everything was going to pieces. Believe me, I felt helpless and compelled too, so I did. But this is different. Jim said not to make things personal, which is what you're doing-ing-ing-ing rr-r-r-r-r-rright now. Sayg we have to fight here because of what we've seen or done in the past is making things personal. You and me, we have a larg-zqzqzggggglobal choice to make. That Metron—what it said makes me think this isn't just a contest of survival, but a test of our kind. Uzkzkzkz-g instinct is to fight. Everything about this experience says we should fight. But maybe this is a tesssshsssht- - free will and the power to decide."

"I don't want to take that kind of gamble when the stakes are this high. Yeah, it's a global choice—if we lose, what if they execute the _Enterprise _too-oo-uvvv - - a time for war and time for words. This isn't a time for negotiations. Giving up your arms and waving a white flag won't get you anything out here in this arena."

"I'm not saying we shouldn't fight at all. I'm just saying that this device, this translator, gives us a third option."

--

Jim struggles to remain awake in his chair. Since we began streaming picture and sound, there has been little activity both on screen and in audio.

I look at Jim, then look back at the screen, searching for some clue, though I do not know the what question I am seeking to answer. Then pause.

There is something strange about what we are watching. I believe there are four figures on the screen, but the two figures I suspect to be Gorn may simply be shadows in the rocky canyon.

"Bamboo growing in a desert. A huge deposit of beautifully crystallized diamonds. A vein of coal. None of this makes sense."

There is cloud of dust. The shadows move out into the open. They steadily make their way to two small figures. One of the figures seems to be trapped or unable to move.

"The Metrons placed them here for us to build weapons. The only question is, what kind of weapon can we make?"

The Gorn move closer, one step at a time.

"Engineer Boyé, change the contrast of the picture. Bring into high definition the figures in the center, as much as you can."

Jim straightens.

The two green figures seem to be dominating the match. Both Nyota and Sulu cannot compete against the sheer strength of the Gorn.

"Sulu, wait, something looks wrong—"

One of the Gorn is on the ground. Whether it has fallen over or is on top of one of our own cannot be discerned.

"Sulu!" Nyota screams.

Two figures run away. The view trails with them. They weave through the canyons. The screen jerks as it follows Sulu and Nyota.

"I'm okay," he rasps out. "I'm okay. Just cut me free of this trap. They set this up, the bastards."

"Okay, I'm trying. Roll over, these vines are thick. Move your arm."

"Find a sharp stone somewhere. This net, I'm never going to get free if you unloose it one by one."

"I think this might work. Do you see them anywhere? They've got to be close by if they set this up."

"No I don't—shit. Run Nyota, go!"

"Sulu, I'm not leaving you. We're in this together."

"Just leave me, I'll fend for myself."

"Shut up you idiot, you can't even move."

"I'll figure something out. Go Nyota, now! Run!"

"I'm almost done cutting you loose—get up, Sulu."

A hiss and roar.

The screen remains on the same scene for some time.

Chaos. The yelling of Sulu and Uhura, hissing and the sound of scuffling and fighting. Then shouts to run, get away, the pounding of feet.

Jim looks at me. "Fuck."

"Nyota? Nyota? Nyota stay with me, don't close your eyes. Nyota!"

"Hey Sulu."

"I told you to run, I told you to run! Why the hell did you stay? Is it deep?"

Coughing.

"That's not good. Don't close your eyes, just hold your side."

The sound of cloth ripping.

"Hold it here. I'm gonna make a bandage, if I can figure out how."

"I'm okay. I'm okay, Sulu. The Gorn didn't stab me that deeply."

"Shh, be quiet. I always knew you were stubborn, but I didn't think you were stupid."

Laughter.

"Save your breath, just press this against your side to keep the bleeding from getting worse."

Laughter.

"Nyota, this isn't funny. Nyota, keep yourself together. Nyota, Nyota! Look at me."

"No, Sulu, sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"You should've run. Spock's been rubbing off on you."

"You'd have done the same thing. We're a team. We don't leave each other behind."

A gasp.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" his voice was quiet.

"I'll hold up. You aren't in top condition yourself."

"Yeah, well. It happens."

Silence.

"Sulu?"

"Yeah?"

"What's that smell?"

"Sulfur, I think."

"Bamboo, sulfur, coal, and diamonds. All we need is potassium nitrate."

"I don't get it. Here, take this. You're still bleeding. I'll try and find some water."

"Sulu, if I don't make it—"

"We're getting through this, Nyota, just hold on. You aren't going to die."

"I don't plan on it, Hikaru. But you have to know this—we can make a primitive cannon, Sulu. Use the bamboo to load the charge, the diamonds as projectiles. And most importantly—the mix of the gunpowder. It has to be 75% potassium nitrate, 15% charcoal, and 10% sulfur."

"75, 15, 10, got it."

"Mix it together carefully, it can go off with a spark of static electricity. Load your mix into the bamboo, pack it in tight. Use the diamonds as your bullets—you know how old guns work, right?"

"Yeah, I know the basics."

"Then the fuse—"

"I'll figure something out. How do you know this?"

"I loved fireworks as a child. It's one of those weird factoids you remember for no reason. Funny how being stabbed can jog your memory."

"Nyota, stay with me. Don't close your eyes, don't you dare close your eyes."

"Sulu, that's your chance of survival, and beating this game. I don't want to die, but find potassium nitrate, and you can take down both the Gorn. You have to find it. Do know what it looks like?"

"Yeah. I'm not leaving you though."

"You have to. There's nothing more you can do for me right now. So go. I'll keep the bleeding under control."

--

"We are the Metrons. One of your own is dying. We would suggest you make whatever memorial arrangements, if any, which are customary in your culture. We believe she has very little time left."

"For God's sakes, we appeal to you in the same of civilization. Put a stop to this," Leonard pleaded.

"Your violent intent and actions demonstrate that you are not civilized. However, we are not without compassion. It is likely you have feelings towards your comrade. So that you will be able to prepare yourself, we will allow you to see and hear what is now transpiring."

The viewscreen went blank, then showed Nyota. She was breathing heavily, her face grey and her hair matted.

"Gorn, this is Lt. Nyota Uhura of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. I know you have this translator too. I want to speak to you. Come in please."

She repeated her statement. "Gorn, this is Lt. Nyota Uhura of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. I know you have this translator too. I want to speak to you. Come in please.

"There must be a reason why you attacked the Federation outpost and razed it to the ground. Just as we had a reason to launch a counterattack and kill all the crew you left behind. Was it really an invasion? Did you think it so easy to simply take a planet and kill the aliens who lived there?"

"Earthling! You were intruding! You established an outpost in our space! It is you who invaded, we protected our system. Then you pursued us, relentless soft skinned creatures!"

Nyota straightened. The effort caused her to cough. Blood spilled from her lips. "You never attempted to communicate with them, to tell of them the situation. If we responded violently, it was because you initiated it."

"We signalled. You lie, we signalled. There was no reply, no answer, no acknowledgement to us. You ignored."

"Captain there were rumours of certain strange signals on subspace channels. They were never recorded, however."

Jim frowned and nodded.

"We destroyed invaders, and we shall destroy you!"

"If we were to conduct talks, would you be willing to negotiate with us?"

"Lives, so many lives destroyed. So much blood shed!"

"For both your kind and mine. We have lost much in friends and comrades. But talking can give us a chance to build relations, rather than continue in a cycle of destruction."

"Lies! You soft skinned creatures are treacherous!"

"We are. But if you know the word treachery, then you must know what it is to be treacherous too."

A silence.

"You give your word, N-ota?"

"I give you my word as a Starfleet officer, which is the highest oath that can bind me."

An explosion.

The scene cuts to Sulu. A burst cannon is nearby, and both the Gorn lie on the ground, near death. He takes a stone dagger off of one of the Gorn's body—presumably the same dagger that wounded Nyota, and moves to slit the Gorn's throat.

"Hello? Hello?" Nyota's voice comes through the transmitter.

Sulu looks at the transmitter, then at the dagger he holds. He puts pressure on the blade, but then looks at the transmitter again. Slowly, he backs away from the Gorn, keeping an eye on their forms. They move slightly and seem to be breathing heavily.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

Sulu reaches for the transmitter. "Hey Nyota."

"Sulu?!" she coughs. "What did you do?"

"I found the potassium nitrate."

"You killed them."

Sulu shook his head. "No, they're still alive. I couldn't do it, Nyota. I couldn't do it. Fuck—I'm not playing their sick game. I'm a pilot. Necessity made me a soldier. But I'm not a murderer. Not like this."

"Sulu," Nyota's voice came weakly over the transmitter.

"Nyota, are you all right? Hang on, we're gonna get out of this place. Just hold on."

The screen cut out. An alien being appeared on the bridge, its form physical.

"Your subordinates have surprised us, captain."

"Give me back my officers. She's fucking dying down there, I don't care about how they surprise you. You got your show, now give me back my people."

"Your officers will be restored to you. But we are surprised by you, captain. We saw in you the capacity for mercy, but it has revealed itself those who follow you."

Jim stood. "Let me set you straight on one thing: they don't follow me. We all work together. What you saw there is an example of the potential that every single fucking person has, and it had nothing to do with me. That was all Nyota and Sulu. I'm privileged to be surrounded by good people—they give me their best and I try to give them mine. So don't fucking disrespect them by crediting me with all of their actions. They have free will, and it was their choice, every single step of the way.

"You waltz in here with loudspeaker voice and your analysis like you're better than us, but you're not. We might be violent, but that doesn't make you civilized. If you knew real compassion, then you'd respect us as free beings, not like a fucking lab experiment. So don't give me your fucking grand conclusion—I'm not perfect, but at least I'm not a hypocrite. Give me back my officers, and get off my fucking ship."

The being seemed taken aback. Jim remained standing, eyes blazing. He seemed out of place in the pristine white of the bridge, face caked with dirt and dried blood, hands black with grime. His uniform hung loose on his frame, the angles of his face were sharp. But his eyes blazed.

Nyota and Sulu appeared on the bridge. Sulu looked disoriented, then saw Jim standing and his body sagged with relief. Dr. McCoy immediately went to Nyota with his tricorder and scrambled to keep her signal from fading. Her breathing was labored. Her dark red blood appeared on the bridge floor.

Jim knelt down to Nyota.

"Lt. Uhura. Lt. Uhura, I am addressing you as your captain."

"Jim, shut up and stop being boneheaded," Leonard snapped.

"Captain, Lt. Uhura reporting for duty, sir," Nyota's eyes fluttered open.

"You did good, Nyota. I need you to do one more thing for me."

"Yes, captain?"

"Hang on. Bones'll get you fixed up and back on your feet in no time, so hang on. You did good. You're back with us."

Nyota nodded. "Try my best, captain."

The Metron surveyed the scene. Jim looked up at it.

"I thought I told you to get off my ship. Now."

The Metron opened its mouth to speak, but Jim cut it off.

"Now."

It disappeared.


	105. Ch 105

"Kirk, we've just got word of a diplomatic situation. The Emperor on the planet Ecir is requesting a negotiator immediately, and the other party has agreed to sit on the meetings. We need you to resolve this. Our analysts say that if this situation isn't diffused soon, the planet will be plunged into a civil war, or even a world war that could last for decades. The last thing we need is a solar system in that sector to destabilize."

"Sir, can't you give this to another ship? Me and my crew really need a break after the handling of Cestus-3, we only just picked up the team there and warped out of orbit like seven hours ago. I've got two of my command officers in the Sickbay—"

"Every other ship in the fleet is engaged right now, captain. I know we've been putting the _Enterprise_ through a grueling schedule, and we won't be expecting reports anytime soon. Just get the job done."

"Extensions on my reports. That's very generous of you."

"Look, I wish I had better news, but we're all still dealing with the ripple effects of that bastard Nero. Do you know how many ships we lost in that engagement? We've got mountains of stuff piled up, a huge backlog of missions. We were hesitant to give you the top priority ones in your first year, but the board just finished going through your performance evals and they found out that your track record is better than some of our top officers. You've made the grade. Keep doing what you've been doing, captain."

"I intend to, sir."

"Your communications people ready to receive the data?"

"They've been on the line, admiral."

"All right, I've just sent the word to initiate file transfer. Any more questions?"

Jim looked as though he had a great many things to say. He remained silent.

"File transfer complete sir."

"We've received everything on my end, admiral."

"Then good luck, and godspeed. Nogura out."

Jim turned to me and said one word.

"Fuck."

"I have already sent the file to our historians on board. I also took the liberty of sending it to our economist and our political analysts as well. I will of course read the file and prepare a distillation for you, so that you might be familiar with the salient facts."

"I've got a migraine."

"You need sleep, Jim. That, and nutritional supplements."

"I can't sleep. I don't know why, but I can't sleep. Don't tell Bones, he'd just give me a hypo of drugs. They give me the freakiest dreams. I'm gonna go work out, and hope that tires me out or something. When's ETA for Ecir?"

"33 hours. You do not need to be on duty during that time."

"What about you? Don't think I haven't noticed—you haven't had a break since we got back from the city."

"I am better able to manage the stresses. Vulcans do not require sleep."

"Lucky bastard."

I hesitated. "I may be able to help you. It is only a temporary solution, but you would be able to sleep for a full eight hours."

"Nah, I've got it under control. Just, you know the drill."

"I will inform you of any pressing developments."

"Great," Jim moved towards the exit. He turned back to me. "When all of this is over, I want a chess game. I want to sleep, actually sit down and eat a meal with you, then go play chess, just the two of us. Promise me we'll have some time alone."

"I will arrange it in my schedule, after our mission is complete."

--

As is typical in diplomatic missions, Nyota and I have been poring over the Starfleet file and browsing the nets for supplementary information. As she is still recovering from the events of Cestus-3, we have our files spread on two biobeds in the Sickbay, much to Dr. McCoy's annoyance. He does not disturb our work, however.

She looked up at me.

"You're different."

I looked up from my datapad. "In what ways, ndugu?"

"You and the captain. Both of you, ever since you went into that time portal, something about you has changed. It's so strange—one minute you were leaping through the gateway, the next minute you're back. The same, yet everything about you has changed."

I straightened. "Your own experience with regards to Cestus-3 has changed you."

"We haven't had time to talk, not with this craziness, but will you tell me what happened in between?"

I looked down at my datapad again. "I am not certain that I can find the words, in any language, to describe our experience."

Nyota looked at me thoughtfully. "You rely on each other, more than anyone else on the ship."

"Jim has always depended on me, as his First Officer."

"True. But it's different now. And you depend on him too. It used to be a one way street, and now it's not."

"Commander Spock?" Dr. Nari-Oothes stood at the foot of the biobed. "I have the report you requested."

"Were you able to discover the reason behind the increase in civilian violence against the government?"

"Yes. There are several factors, of course, but given the recent developments of the region, the patterns are very similar, almost a textbook case of rising nationalist protest."

Nyota frowned. "But nationalism is hardly a universal concept. For a civilization at this advanced stage of development, for people to suddenly differentiate themselves is a break from everything in their past. The Empire has a tradition of assimilation and cultural absorption."

"That's the view put forward by their Sentemferists historians, who for the most part come from the ruling class. I actually think that the Empire has always has this tension between imposing its homogeneous standard on its subjects and recognizing the legitimacy of the cultures they conquer. Their own culture is a co-optation of their traditions from the past and the minorities that make up the rest of that body."

"Fascinating."

Nyota looked at me. "Do you think this'll help Jim?"

"I believe we may be able to use that to our advantage. As far as I can gather, both parties involved view this meeting as a formality. They do not expect any compromise, and they will come unwilling to bend on any issue. However, Starfleet expects Jim to broker a peace treaty between them, which is a near impossibility if neither party actually desires peace. He will need every advantage at his disposal. In this case, the only advantage we can give him is information and analysis.

"Dr. Nari-Oothes, will you provide a brief history of the idea of nationalism, to be read by the captain, maximum 5000 words."

He paled. "A history of nationalism? Mr. Spock, you're asking me to summarize the history of nationalism in 5000 words or less? That's impossible, sir."

"Then follow this outline. Provide the basic theories of nationalism and give three case studies. Choose cases that particularly illustrate what are agreed to be the key features of nationalism, but also choose your cases such that exist important contrasts between them. Have it ready by 0450."

"Aye sir."

I turned back to Nyota. "We will return to our previous discussion at a later date, I give you my word, ndugu. Right now, our duties prevent us."

"We don't have to talk about it. It's just something I observed. There's not much more to say."

--

Jim was already in the transporter room, in his dress uniform. The once tailored fit was slightly loose. He did not have his captain's mask firmly in place yet. He looked at me with a smile and a soft look in his eyes.

"You look good," he came over and removed a piece of lint from my uniform, then stepped back and scrutinized me. "You've lost weight. You haven't been taking care of yourself, have you," Jim accused.

We did not have time to discuss the matter further.

"Captain, we're ready to energize. We've locked onto their signals."

Jim's captain's mask slid into place.

"All right. We'll have the Emperor come on board first, do the whole greeting and gift giving, then we'll have Slladdek on board. Team A escort the Emperor, Team B escort Slladdek."

I took my place beside Jim.

"Right. Energize."

The Emperor appeared in his regalia. Jim stepped forward and offered the tradiational bow used among the Sentemferist elite, bending at the waist and then snapping his heels. The Emperor looked moderately surprised, then greeted him in turn. They proceeded to weclome each other according to Sentemferist high form. After a long and arduous ceremony of polite words, the Emperor finally was escorted out of the transporter room to the conference location.

With Slladdek, it was quite different. Someone taught the captain the Bulacian greeting used among familiars. Slladdek was not offended by this gesture, but delighted. He and Jim fell into easy introductions with no formality between them. Jim even shared a small joke with the revolutionary, who responded in kind with his own brand of humor. After a short period of time, Slladdek was also escorted to the conference room.

Jim turned to me. There was no trace of the rigid deference or the good humor he had just used. Worry creased his brow.

"Did I handle that okay?"

"You handled it flawlessly, captain."

He exhaled, then straightened and looked at me. "Ready?"

I nodded.

"As long as you've got my back."


	106. Ch 106

The second hour of negotiations. Jim and I have been listening to the Emperor and Slladdek put forward arguments and justifications for their respective positions. Jim initially attempted to guid the talks, but that quickly deteriorated back to its original state. He has been quietly sitting in his chair, simply listening, while the two men before him stand and accuse one another of various crimes.

They have arrived at the crux of the matter now—national self determination.

"Have you taken a vote?" Jim interjected quietly.

"We have. And the people have resoundly answered yes! They want their own country, the ability to make their own laws without the Empire's permission. They don't want a benevolent father—they want to be free!"

"What do you know about the people. Can you say that you speak for them? Yes, they are entranced by your words, your fiery talk and the way you arouse their passions. But tomorrow, when there is no bread, when you cannot give them protection from the thieves that break into their homes, what will they say then. What do the people know, except what they feel from minute to minute?"

"You insult them! You believe they cannot govern for themselves—you think them stupid little children."

"I do not think it, I know it. What experience do you have with governance? You are a revolutionary, you want to overturn tables and destroy everything, that is the only thing you know. What do you know of the grinding work of lawmaking? What do you know of creating, enacting programs that no one is satisfied with, but are necessary? What do you know of that thankless task?"

"If you do not want that burden, then I will gladly relieve you of it. You see? How can he claim to know what is best for us if he cannot even relate to us? It is our right to have our own nation! You are young, Captain Kirk, like me and my men. How can you sit and listen to this old man's babble. You understand the need for freedom. If you could take the _Enterprise_ on your own, without the oversight of Starfleet, would you not do it?"

"_Don't_ try to manipulate me," Jim's eyes blazed. "I'm not here to take sides. I'm here to act as an unbiased third party to these negotiations."

"Unbiased? How can anyone be unbiased? There is only one truth and one justice, and it is on our side. Your Federation states that all planets have the right to self determination, and that goes for peoples as well. Freedom is a universal right—that is the only side!"

"There are as many sides in this universe as there are people. You would claim your side to be right, and you feel secure in that moral high ground. It is how all revolutionaries are."

"Don't give me any of your sophistry, old man. Your twisted words would have anyone believe that black is white and white is black."

"And yet it is your words that have set this course of events into progression. It is your careless, reckless, utterly meaningless words and promises of freedom and utopias that have destabilized the political situation here and brought things to the brink of civil war. Is that what you want? Blood on your hands. For I guarantee you, there will be blood, and it will be a long conflict."

"If we must sacrifice of human lives on the altar of freedom, then we will do it. You cannot understand that, you cannot understand the burning desire to be free, or die! You are kept safe here in these plush rooms and gilded halls. You have _never_ known what it is to struggle."

The Emperor's eyes hardened. There was a minute of silence before he spoke. I looked at Jim. He had a grim expression on his face.

"Then I ask you this question—have you ordered men into combat. Have you looking to their eyes and ordered them on a mission, knowing full well you might never seen them again. And when you sit down to write a letter to their mother, telling of their courage and remarkable valor, have you questioned the cause you were fighting for. If the war begins and it goes on for years upon years, what will you tell your disillusioned men? Where will your fine words be when your friends and comrades die on the battlefield, for an abstraction.

"You think of me an old man, a man caged and bent by the very Empire I serve. I was once young like you. I once believed in ideals and dreamed lofty dreams like you. To serve the Empire was my greatest ambition, and to expand its reach to encompass our entire world was my goal. I thought I could bring peace and prosperity to all.

"I once crafted fiery words, just as you do now. But time and experience wore that away. I lost my brother, my best friend, and countless other friends in the war I waged. It cost the lives of thousands to bring about peace. And there were nights, deep dark nights, when I questioned my own motivations. You are so willing now to lay down lives at that altar. Think before you plunge the dagger into your own brother's heart. Stay your hand and look at his face—that face that is so loyal and trusting—before you offer his blood to your goddess."

The revolutionary stood defiant. "I will not be moved by your disillusionment. Perhaps you had noble intentions, but that is long past. What is old must be swept away to make way for the new. This Empire is not a place of peace, but oppression! You speak of the plans you made once—they are corrupted! They do not meet the needs of the people, because the people want freedom!

"Step down and give us the right to make our own hope. I think you are an old fool, but you think I am a young one. I have read the history books. I know all the mistakes men have made, and the thousand mistake you have made too! But while you are like a gutted candle, I am a blazing bonfire. There is strength and vigor running through these veins, there are new ideas and new ways of governance that we can offer. You do not have the force of youth, and I pity you for it. Let us free, and we will make our own destiny."

The two man looked at each other, then at the captain.

"Captain. You have not yet said a word on this matter."

"I know."

"Do you have an opinion? Kirk, do not stand as the indifferent! You know in your heart what's right."

"And what's that," Jim said, voice even.

"Freedom, of course!"

The captain looked at the Emperor.

"Captain Kirk, you are a leader of men. You understand the cost of blood. I will not see my Empire fall to pieces. I understand that it will mean civil war, but so be it. Peace and stability are where true freedom lies. How can a man be free when he is starving? That is a slavery of its own kind."

"Better to die and starve than be a slave. Better to burn a thousand times than continue under your rule. I won't settle for anything less than an independent nation, and if you want war, you'll have it!"

"You do not speak for the people."

"Neither do you! I am much closer to them than you will ever be!"

"Are you both done putting words in my mouth?" Jim said quietly, without sarcasm.

Both men looked at him with varying degrees of surprise.

"Neither of your are willing to compromise. That's understandable—this isn't an easy issue to compromise on. But we are going to find some middle ground not because those are my orders, but because there are some pressing realities both of you have forgotten that need to be addressed.

"You," he pointed to Slladdek, "want an independent nation. According to my First Officer, this nation would occupy this area," Jim referred to the map on the projection screen, "and you want this city here to be the capital. Am I correct?"

"Our rightful lands should expand farther in to the east, as a large population of our people live there as well."

"He exaggerates. Census data shows that the area he's speaking of only has 35% Bulacian population. The majority ethnic group in that region is actually Gentor."

"Noted, Emperor."

"They are rightful Bulacian lands! It was the policy of your grandfather to encourage migration of the Gentor into our ancestral homeland, without the interference of the Empire we might have—"

"Emperor, Slladdek, unless I specifically address you, I respectfully request that you maintain silence," Jim said sharply. "You had your turns to debate. I don't have time to go into every tiny detail of the situation."

"Without your understanding the injustices inflicted on us how can you hope to give a fair verdict?!"

"I'm not here to judge. I'm here to negotiate. There's a difference. In my experience with these diplomatic talks, history always plays a role in negotiations. It's unavoidable. I've also learned not to let it dominate, since nothing will get done. Treaties are forged by history, but they make history too. We're here in this present moment to look at the past and create something new for the future."

"You surprise me, captain," the Emperor frowned.

"I'm getting tired of hearing that from everyone. Now, back to my main point. As far as I can tell, the country you want to establish has access to the sea and other land based trade routes, but no space ports. Do you plan on sustaining your ecomony purely through intraplanetary trade?"

"We would, of course, build a space port. We are seeking economic relations with a neighboring star system."

"My reports say you don't have the technological capability or resources to build a fleet of merchant vessels, let alone a port. And any neighboring planet that wants to start trading with you has to deal with the Empire, since it is the single largest country on this planet. This isn't a matter of your right to sustain yourselves, but it becomes a question of national security and some tricky interstellar diplomacy for the Empire. Treaties along those lines would have to be signed three ways."

"We have our ocean ports, and the goods we produce there."

"Your main trading partner is still have to be with the Empire. In fact, my economist on board tells me that your volume of trading has decreased by 70% since the Empire placed an embargo on goods produced in your region."

"They strangle us with every means they have."

"The political situation on your planet is such that even if you had an independent nation, you would still be highly dependent on the Empire for income and the general welfare of your economy. I know you haven't succeeded in getting any neighboring planets on board with this because if they signed an agreement with you without talking to the Empire, it's as good as signing an alliance with you. That would set up a situation for interstellar warfare, and the star systems around here have enough on their plates without supporting the independence movement of an alien population.

"Those are the cold hard facts. The Emperor brings up a good point—how are you going to sustain your nation if you don't have an economy? You rely on the Empire for 67% of your grain imports, 88% for all cattle and poultry. That's not even considering the whole list of raw materials you import to create your finished product. You talk as though freedom will solve all your problems, but national sovereignty is exactly where all your problems begin."

"I should have known better than to trust in you. They have turned you into a lackey!"

"Calm down. I'm not finished yet." Jim turned to the Emperor. "You have something entirely different on your hands. You accuse him of being a dreamer, but you've forgotten the unquantifiable power that ideas can have on people. My historians and political analysts have given me some interesting data. It says here that sympathy for the Bulacian movement among the general population has increased 56% in the past six months. Your embargo on them hasn't done anything to help that situation. Civil unrest has skyrocketed. Just this past week alone your police forces made 432 arrests in your capital city. Your networks have been attacked and your websites vandalized by an anonymous group of amateur hackers who support the independence movement.

"Granted, the large majority of the population is still silent on the matter. Your people—the Sentemferists, don't like these developments and Spock tells me that the intellectuals have been denouncing them. Most of the protest are among the other ethnic groups, the ones that you or someone before you conquered and incorporated into your empire.

"Even with those caveats, these numbers are telling me that there's something wrong with your government. Something's missing, something's lacking, if so many people are responding to this. You argue that this is just a phase and that it will pass in time. For a while, you'll be able to keep your empire together, just the way it is. It might even stay together after your death. But this data, these rumblings aren't going to go away. Freedom is a funny thing. You squash it right at the bud, you press the life out of it immediately and keep your people happy with bread and circuses, then they won't even know what it means. But if you let it take root for just a little while, then people can't live without it. They might not understand the implications of it all, but the idea is so powerful that it doesn't matter to them. It's all they dream about.

"Unless you make some real reforms to your government, it's going to fall apart at the seams. The process of time will make your government slow and sluggish—it's already showing signs of having an unmanageable bureaucracy. You or your successor won't be able to stop the flood. That vote the people took? That's just the beginning.

"You have a choice. If you want to keep the Empire together, then something has to change. Expand the rights of the people. Put ethnic minorities on equal footing with your ruling classes. Give them more legal freedom."

"That is impossible. I will not give into the demands of one group, only to be harrassed by the even more outrageous demands of another."

"It's either that or go into a civil war. Let's say you win—it'll be a hollow victory. You've let the seed grow for too long, and people won't forget."

"Nothing is predetermined in history. You cannot tell me these things as though you were a prophet, captain. You are not even thirty years of age in your own society. What do you know of history and the course of the future."

"Nothing is predetermined, that's true. But you're already losing the battle to win the hearts of your own subjects. Unless you can offer something better, you're going to keep losing. That's your reality.

"So, gentlemen. You've stated your positions. I've just shown you your realities. What you face now is a choice.

"You can settle for a compromise, one that won't satisfy either of you, but it will prevent bloodshed and it will bring a measure of stability back to the planet. Or you can beam back down to the planet with nothing and watch history unfold like a bloody red carpet. The way you're both heading now, war is inevitable. Compromise means sacrificing your principles—principles which you both claim to be inviolable. But it also means that a soldier or civilian fighting for your cause isn't going to die with a bullet in his brain in a civil war you could have prevented. You both claim to speak for the people, you both say you represent that people's best interests. But only one person can speak for him or herself.

"I thought you should know about compromise by now, Emperor. And I thought you, Slladdek would know about the people's voice."

The two men looked at Jim with mixed expressions, incredulity evident on their faces. He smiled back at them tiredly.

"I'm young, but I've seen a lot."

That was all he offered by way of explanation.

The Emperor and Slladdek settled into their seats. Jim exhaled.

"All right then. Let's begin."


	107. Ch 107

Negotiations between the two parties lasted for a total of 27 hours. There were three breaks in between for meals and sleep. After the treaty was signed, the _Enterprise_ remained in orbit over the planet for an additional 72 hours to report to Starfleet on the reception of the treaty and the beginnings of its implementation.

"You done good, Jim. It's the best damned piece of diplomacy you've produced yet."

"Starfleet's gonna track the development of this planet for the next few years. See how they're doing. We'll see if you can still call it a success then, Bones."

"Come on, let's get ya a drink. You look like you need one."

"Yeah," Jim breathed. "After those brainfuck sessions. God, I dunno what I woulda done if Spock wasn't there."

"Captain, the success of this diplomatic mission was entirely due to you."

"No, there were definitely times when I wanted to scream at them and you'd just give me a look and I'd shut up. Thanks for that. And you were the one who dealt with all the technical shit. I just got them to sit together at the table."

"Well I'll be damned. I never thought I'd see the day when James T. Kirk was actually humble."

"What?"

"Angels must be singin' 'hallelujah' somewhere."

"All right, just hand over the whiskey, Bones. Spock, you're not staying?"

"I promised to dine with Nyota at 1330. Then I need to check on the progress of an experiment."

"Chess later?"

"That would be acceptable, captain. Is 1700 a good time?"

"1730's better. My room or the rec room?"

"Your quarters are preferable."

"Right. I'll see ya then."

--

"Tell me about the City on the Edge of Forever."

Nyota and I were sitting to a meal in her quarters. She requested to be released from Sickbay, and Christine Chapel obliged her.

"How did you know the Guardian led us to that place?"

"Chekov had some free time, and he calculated it by some complex incomprehensible computations based on the time waves. Also, Jim's mentioned it a few times when he talks to you and he thinks no one else can hear."

I made note to tell Jim of this. "What would you like to know?"

What was it like? Can you tell me? Was it really like all the legends say?"

Images of the city, the memories of the time spent there pressed to the forefront of my mind.

"Spock?"

The Manhattan skyline.

"Like all legends, the stories of New York City contain grains of truth. I do not claim to know all of that city, but I will attempt to do it justice."

Nyota sat back, ready to listen. As I began to describe the architecture of the city, the demographics, I watched Nyota imagine the city in her mind. To her, it was a place. An exotic, far off place lost in the process of time. Perhaps it was also an escape from the horrific experience she faced on Cestus-3.

I could not separate the city from certain associations.

"The city is divided into five regions, known as boroughs. There is Brooklyn—"

I remembered our apartment, our piles of electronics. The smell of the kitchen, Jim's back as he sautees onions and I chop garlic.

A line of cafes. Jim settles into a seat, reading through a paper on FinFET transistors.

"The main mode of transportation are the underground trains—"

Jim racing down the stairs, swiping his card, and wedging himself into the car as the doors close. He forces them open to let me in.

"The city is host to several businesses, corporations—"

"Hey sexy, how about a drink later tonight?" a woman in a business suit smiles as she is leaving the restaurant. "When're you finished up here?"

"I thank you for your attentions, but cannot accept your offer."

"Oh, come on, I promise it'll be fun."

"He said, no, lady," Jim says, pointedly looking at the door. "G'night."

I look at Jim with mild exasperation. "The manager will be angry with you."

"The manager can go fuck himself. You said no. No means no."

Jim returns to his duties. I briefly watch him clear the table before more guests arrrived.

"The are several parks deliberately built into the city—"

Morning, one fall day. Jim drags me out to the park. He stretches, does some warm up exercises while I read a news release concerning the development of a new microprocessor.

"Ready."

"Noted, Jim. Let me finish this paragraph."

We spar. At some point, it degenerates into me chasing Jim as he sprints through the park.

"The population of the city is quite diverse—"

Two women stand on a corner and kiss passionately.

"It hosts events to celebrate Terran holidays—"

Jim holds out a pair of shoes that have blades attached to them.

"No."

"Just put them on, Spock. You've got that high learning curve, a good sense of balance. Try it."

"I am cold, captain. Going in circles on a sheet of ice is not a productive use of our time. You also need to eat."

Jim drops the skates. "Fine. If you wanna bitch about it, I'm not gonna stop you."

He laces himself up, and takes to the ice. He wobbles, but after a few minutes he is racing around the ice, weaving in and out, at times falling spectacularly.

I step out onto the ice and learn quickly how easy it is to fall. Jim does not notice that I am on the rink. I experiment, observe the others, particularly Jim. Soon, we are racing each other. The velocities he and I attain are breathtaking.

After we leave, he eats a full meal and sleeps for seven hours.

"Famous landmarks of the city include Brooklyn Bridge—"

Jim, that indescribable expression on his face, set against the bridge cables, blue sky, yellow light, and Manhattan skyline.

Two trees leaning towards each other, green and gold.

"That is the City on the Edge of Forever," I concluded rather abruptly, strangely bereft.

I was not aware that I had developed such a strong attachment to the city. The only place with a comparable hold on my memory is Vulcan, specifically our ancestral home, the house where I was raised.

"You miss it," Nyota came towards me and wrapped me in her easy embrace.

I made no reply.

"It changed you," she put her hand to my face, her eyes examining me.

"Be that as it may, this is where I belong. In this time, on this ship, serving with this crew. I promised to return to you."

"You kept your promise. But I'm not the reason you came back," she shook her head. "You returned because Jim returned to the _Enterprise_. If he asked you to stay lost in that city forever, you'd do it."

"I value your friendship too, Nyota. Jim is my captain, but if he ordered me to do such a thing—"

"Jim is your captain, and you would follow him to the ends of the earth."

I could not deny the verity of her statement. There was silence for a moment.

"You believe that I hold the captain in higher esteem than you, and that is not true."

"I know that, Spock. I know, I didn't mean to imply that you don't love me. Jim and I, we hold different places in your life."

"He is my captain and you are ndugu."

"He's more than just your captain," she said quietly.

--

"How was dinner with Nyota?"

"She posed an interesting query."

"What?" Jim moved his pawn.

"She desired to know of New York City."

Jim's hand stilled. "What did you tell her?"

"I simply described the city," I moved my bishop. Jim frowned at the move. "However, it is likely that the crewmembers will also put forward several queries as to our experience in time. It will be necessary to correlate our stories. Your ability to fabricate believable falsehoods is far superior to mine."

"Yeah. Can we do that later? I don't wanna think about work now."

"Of course."

Jim relaxed and concentrated on the game. Thirty minutes passed as we played in companionable silence. Then—

"Bridge to Captain Kirk, bridge to Captain Kirk."

Jim stared at the chessboard. Then at the terminal. Then back at the chessboard.

"They didn't—I gave _orders_ not to disturb—nah."

I raised an eyebrow at Jim.

"Bridge to Captain Kirk, bridge to Captain Kirk. We're very sorry captain, we know you gave us orders, but there's transmission from Starfleet."

Jim did not move.

"Captain, they are calling for you from the bridge."

"Maybe we're both dreaming."

"I regret to inform you that this is a reality. Admiral Nogura likely has another urgent mission for you and the _Enterprise_."

Jim put his head in his arms.

"Captain?"

"Bridge to Captain Kirk, Captain Kirk, come in please. Come in please. Captain Kirk, come in please."

I went to the terminal.

"Yes, Lt. Migook?"

"Is the captain there, Commander Spock?"

Jim came from behind me. "Yeah, I'm here. What does Nogura want now."

"We're putting you through to him right now, sir."

"Admiral. Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Let me guess—I'm not your favorite person right now."

"This'll be our third mission in ten days, sir. My people _need_ a break."

"I understand, captain."

"I respectfully disagree. I don't think you understand at all, sir. We still haven't been able to have the funeral services for the officers who died on Cestus-3 because everyone had to prep for the diplomatic mission and get the ship secure."

"This one isn't much better. Captain, how much do know about the talks that were in progress between the Klingon Empire and the Federation?"

I became somewhat alarmed. My father was part of the team of diplomats. "You spoke of the talks in the past tense, admiral. I presume that the talks have failed."

"They're on the verge of breaking down. We don't know have any certainty right now how things are going to fall. Our strategists think that the Klingons might launch a surprise attack, or that they might try to set up a base somewhere right near Federation space. Our other ships have been deployed to other solar systems, particularly to Omergo and Orkon. We're sending you to Organia."

"Is this military ops, admiral?"

"Not yet. We hope it doesn't come down to that."

"You anticipate that it will."

"Intelligence ships have reported a lot of Klingon scouting and activity in that area. They've picked up transmissions and our codebreakers got part of the message. It's clear that Organia will play some role in their plans. I'll forward you all the information we have. You'll have to play it by ear, Kirk, which is why I'm sending you."

"Admiral, I'm not the only guy capable of doing this job."

"Yes you are, captain. Gentlemen, welcome to war games."

"Welcome to war games? It's a little too late for that, admiral," Jim replied. "Kirk out."

Jim's arm came across and he terminated the connection, punching the button. I turned around.

We stood face to face. I could feel the cool temperature of his body. Something in my side hitched, and I realized I was holding my breath. I forced myself to exhale and step back. Jim watched me, his eyes veiled.

"Captain, I am afraid we must cut our game short. It is necessary for me to meditate before this mission, else I will not be able to serve you to the best of my ability."

"All right, Spock," he said quietly. "Do what you need to do. I'll be on the bridge for a while, then down with Giotto prepping security teams for the Klingons. If this does end up being war, and if it does end up that there's a firefight planetside, we're gonna be prepared for this."

"I will assist you as soon as I can, Jim."

"I know."

I left his quarters, walked to mine, and dimmed the lights. I sat down and meditated.

During the whole session, I could not purge myself of an image in my mind.

Jim, standing apart from me. That indescribable expression on his face—free of duty, war, peace. A man walking forward. The figure of his form set against the bridge cables, blue sky, yellow light, and Manhattan skyline.

* * *

A/N- Rewrite of TOS: "An Errand of Mercy" forthcoming.


	108. Ch 108

"Captain's log, stardate 3198.4. We have reached Organia and established standard orbit. We might use a Hohmann transfer orbit if the situation changes. Intelligence reports indicate that Klingons were in this area only eight hours ago, so we're going into communications blackout in thirty minutes, to last indefinitely. No signs of hostile activities in this area so far. That's not gonna last.

"On the way here, Giotto, Spock, and I ran every possible battle simulation to get the crew into shape for this. They're lookin' pretty good. Efficiency's up by 39%. I keep asking more from them, and they deliver. No captain could want a better crew.

"The _Enterprise_ itself is in fair condition. We took a few hits during the skirmish with the Gorn, but my engineers have patched all the serious damages. Weapons are uncompromised, shields are at 100%. The weapons teams and some programmers even got together and made a few improvements to the auto-aim, and added a ton of new features for manual control. It might give us an edge, which we'll definitely need if this becomes a battle.

"My communications officers are working round the clock to detect the slightest trace of Klingon signal. They've managed to pick up a few broken residual signals—it honestly sounded like noise to me—and threaded them together using a method that Lt. Uhura seems to have invented on the spot. We've figured out that of the three potential planets, Organia's the ones the Klingons want most. They mean business. Kind of makes me wonder if they sabotaged the diplomatic talks. We weren't able to get a hold of the entire communique, but Lt. Chekov was able to calculate the projected size of the thing, and it's huge. Huge implies detail. Detail implies careful planning.

"Spock raised the possibility that all of this is an elaborate ruse to divert our attention and resources from another target. It's definitely something to take into account, but Klingon warrior culture isn't as big on espionage and intelligence games as the Cardassians or even humans. They put a lot of stock in honor, which of course Spock says is 'an oversimplification of the many facets of Klingon culture.' He always has a good point, but I'd still be surprised if it did turn out to be a fake. I hope it's a fake. Not getting in a Klingon shitstorm is good.

"We know that they've already scoped Organia out and will be bringing a ton of supplies to start building a base. We don't know how many ships are on the way, but I'm betting a lot of heavy supply vessels accompanied by a few battleships. It's only been like a year or two since most of their fleet got demolished by the _Narada_—they can't afford to send a large force out.

"But if we're right, there will be a ton of Klingons on the ground. In terms of numbers, I'm anticipating that we'll be poorly matched. We sent all this info to Starfleet—I've got orders to prevent the Klingons from totally crushing the Organians, which is to say I've got orders to keep the Klingons from giving themselves a huge advantage by establishing a base. No, that wasn't a comment on Starfleet's official policy.

"I've put security teams through drills for covert operations. Klingons might think war's honorable, but I'll use every tactic I've got if I have to. Right now, killing Klingons isn't worth as much as destroying all their shit, when it gets there. Kind of fucked up when you think about it, how lives are worth less than technology in wars. We've been studying as much Klingon technology as possible and devising a thousand different ways to put it out of commission. We hope that the Organians will help us out, but we're not counting on it. The Starfleet file says that the Organians are a stagnant culture, stuck in the stone age. They'd have no idea how to compromise a circuit or screw around with a Klingon disruptor rifle. The best thing we can hope for is that they hide us, and don't turn us in.

"Which brings me to the diplomacy part of all this. Starfleet wants me to wrangle a treaty from the Organians that gives us permission to use their planet as our base. They won't take no for an answer, at least that's the impression I got from Nogura _and_ Komack's transmission. I honestly don't see much of a difference between what we plan on doing and what the Klingons are going to do—the Klingons just take what they want, no questions asked. Starfleet's more like 'hey guys, can we take over your planet and do the exact same thing as our enemy? Thanks.' Whatever. Not commenting on Starfleet policy.

"I hate to do this to them again, but Sulu and Nyota have got the conn. They're actually a really effective command team. Scotty's working overtime making sure the ship's engines are battle ready. Chekov has plotted out and laid in tons of escape routes in case of a surprise attack—which is what I'm personally expecting. I've given them orders that if a fleet of Klingons attack while we're down planetside, they're to withdraw, signal Starfleet, and wait for more forces. I'm confident though that not matter what situation they run into, they'll be able to handle it. Spock and I are going to beam down to the surface with a bunch of security teams.

"I'm putting five teams of five on the planet. We've replicated clothes like the Organians. Their objective—blend into the population and when the Klingons bring their shit, blow it up. This is high risk, but Giotto and I decided to operate without communicators. If teams are captured, that's a huge giveaway that they're Starfleet. We know that the Klingons have got their mindsifter, and that stuff is messed up shit. Our bet is that if the teams look, act, and seem as primitive as the Organians, the Klingons won't be as sadistic as they're reported to be. I dunno. It could go either way.

"That's about it. Kirk out."

--

"That's weird," Jim looked around. The people walked by, indifferent to our presence. "You'd think they had people beaming down every day."

"A curious lack of interest. Notice the ruins in the distance, captain. The size is unusual—the architectural concepts they utilize are far too advanced for the a culture of merely class D minus."

"It looks like some ancient castle. A fortress, definitely."

"Whatever it is, it is inconsistent with the reports we've been given on this culture."

"No kidding."

"Welcome," a humanoid approached us. He made a greeting gesture. "Welcome visitors, welcome. I am Ayelborne."

Jim straightened and mirrored the gesture to the humanoid. "Thank you. I am Captain James T. Kirk of the starship _Enterprise_, representing the United Federation of Planets. This is my First Officer, Commander Spock."

"Welcome, we welcome strangers."

"We've come here to try and open diplomatic relations with your government. Is there someone or a council that holds authority here?"

"Our society does not need a ruling government, but we have a higher order. I am the chairman of the Council of Elders."

"Is there someplace we can go and talk?"

"Yes, of course. Our council chambers are nearby. Please."

As we walked through the village, I saw strange discrepancies. All of the people seemed totally absorbed in their own worlds. There was no trade, very little activity, and a total absence of food. All of the people were dressed homogeneously. A few individuals were gathered together and seemed to be in deep discussion over a matter—I overheard what sounded like an intense philosophical debate on whether war is a historical necessity. I saw Jim's eyes roam over the people as well and knew he was thinking the same thoughts as I was.

We passed some of our men and women, but did not give any reaction to them. They did not make any sign that they recognized us. They blended in with the Organians, their faces arranged in expressions of placid indifference. There was almost an oblivious quality to the look, as though these people had long forgotten the realm of the real and lived in whatever mindscape they built for themselves, wandering through the imaginary and theoretical, instead of remembering their physical reality. It was no surprise that their society was stagnant. They might think the most startling and remarkable thoughts, but they had no motivation to actualize or even share them.

When we reached the Council chamber, there were four men sitting at a table. They wore similar blank, abstract expressions.

"Gentlemen," Jim began immediately. "My government has informed me that the Klingons are expected to move against your planet with the objective of making it a base of operation against the Federation. My mission is to keep them from accomplishing that."

"What you are saying, captain, is that we seem to have a choice between dealing with you or your enemies."

"I know it's not much of a choice, quite frankly. We have intelligence that Klingons are already heading here with several supply ships to take over this planet. If you were to sign a treaty with the Federation, we would use your planet for the same purpose. This is a strategic planet for both systems, and by the looks of it, the war's coming to head right here. The diplomatic talks that were supposed to prevent this from happening are breaking down, which is why I've been sent here."

"We thank you for your offer and your effort, captain, but we really do not need your protection," one of the men sitting at the table replied.

"There is no means that the Klingons can use that could harm us."

I saw Jim frown at the phrasing of that statement.

"You're somehow immune to whatever they can do to you?"

"That is correct, captain. There is no danger to us."

"Do you know what Klingons do? What their rule is like? Do you have any idea of what they're capable of?"

"Of course, captain," Ayelborne answered. "We have read of similiar tyrannical governments in history, even some on you native planet Earth. Governments like those commonly organize areas into vast slave labor camps, take and kill hostages and criminals. It is well recorded in history."

"And this doesn't bother you?" Jim gaped.

"How little you understand us, captain," another man at the table replied.

"Claymare, the Earth-man is moved by the prospect of our imprisonment."

"His concern does appear genuine, yes. But again we assure you that we are in absolutely no danger. If anyone is in danger, you are. It would bet better if you returned to your ship as soon as possible and take your place in history."

"My place in history?"

"Ayelborne, eight space vehicles have assumed orbit around our planet. They are activating their material transmission units."

"Thank you, Trefayne."

Jim's brows furrowed and he frowned. He looked at me. These guys definitely aren't who they say they are.

I nodded.

"Captain, since it is too late for you to escape, perhaps we should do something to protect you. Spilt blood is unpleasant—we will make sure you are not harmed."

"Ayelborne, several hundred soldiers have appeared near the citadel. They bring many weapons."

"How does he know that?"

"Oh, Trefayne is really quite intuitive. You can rest assured that what he says is absolutely correct. But your First Officer, we cannot shelter."

"_What_? Why the hell not."

I immediately comprehended the problem. "I am too well known, captain, and a Vulcan. The majority of Vulcans have returned to the colony to help rebuild. I am one of the few still serving in Starfleet. It is impossible for me to blend into the Organian population."

"Exactly."

"Well then give him a fucking hat or something, I am _not_ standing by and watching while he gets dragged away by the Klingons—"

"We are quite neutral in all of this, we will not interfere in these small matters."

"_Small_?! You call giving up a man to executioners _small_? Who the hell are you people—"

"How little you understand us, captain. How narrowly your vision is limited."

"Then why don't you explain to me instead of constantly saying that nothing matters and none of this is important, because it's fucking important to me—"

Something prickled on the edge of my telepathy. Klingons. Drawing near. There was little time.

I nerve pinched Jim. I caught him as he slumped to the floor. The Organians looked on with placid expressions on their faces.

"Take this man and hide him. You clearly, for whatever reason, are unwilling to help us in any way, but all I ask is that you inform him of my absence and give him your native clothing. I will attend to the rest."

Ayelborne opened a door and I quickly placed Jim inside.

"I'm sorry, Jim," I said quietly, then closed the door.

Klingons came bursting in.

I fought them off, but there were too many. They poured into the room and soon four had me successfully restrained. The only thought that ran through my mind was that they do not find Jim. They must not find Jim.

A Klingon whose uniform was decorated with various medals and honors marched into the room. All saluted him.

"This is the ruling council?" he sneered.

"I am Ayelborne, head of the Council of Elders. I bid you welcome."

"What's this," spit sprayed across my face. He reached up with his hands and forcible moved my head. "I recognize this face from the Federation—an officer of high rank and fame." His eyes went to my ears and took in my eyebrows. "And a Vulcan. Klaa—find his name."

A Klingon saluted. But Ayelborne spoke first.

"I can tell you his name. It is Spock, an officer on the starship _Enterprise_."

Rage surged to the forefront of my emotions, the sting of betrayal. What kind of beings are these Organians, that they look on so indifferently and give to the Klingons the very instruments for my demise? I push those thoughts aside, and focus on finding some way of keeping Jim from being discovered.

"Spock," the Klingon repeated, butchering the pronunciation of my name. He looked me in the eye, and I stared straight back. The Klingon began laughing. "Yes, I remember now. That infamous half Vulcan who serves under Captain Kirk. At least you have some spirit in you, not like these idiot Organians." He suddenly kneed me in my stomach. I doubled over, then was forced up again when he pulled my up by my hair. "I would apologize for my crude methods of interrogation, but I am too curious. Where's your captain? Spock, Kirk's shadow, where is that captain of yours?"

"He is not here," I spat back. "I am here on a diplomatic mission to the Organians. By the Qo'nos-Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations, I demand that you release me. You have no right to detain a emissary of the Federation."

"This is war. There are no rules where war's concerned. If you won't tell us where your captain is by words, we will simply take it from you mind.

"And you," he turned to the Organians. "What an admirable, gutless people. Tell me, do you always betray your friends?"

"It was for the best. No harm would come of it."

"You'll see what harm comes to him. As for your planet—I am here and I will stay. You are now subjects of the Klingon Empire. Rules and regulations will be posted. Any violation, any rebellion will be punished by public execution."

"We shall obey your regulations, governor. It really makes little difference to us."

"We'll see to that. Take him away."


	109. Ch 109

Where is your captain where is your captain where is your captain where is your captain

Delving and diving and squeezing my mind, pounding away the layers in a ruthless search for information.

This is the mindsifter, a mechanical device that presses the mind to find the answers to all questions.

Codes strategies tactics technology knowledge advantage codes codes codes codes strategies strategies

The relentless press of the machine, combined with the fact that I have not been meditating and fortifying my mind regularly, makes me extremely vulnerable. My shields are up and they hold, but I need another plan.

Technology technology technology warp developments formulas science physics chemistry energy energy warp engines weapons phasers phasers photon torpedoes schematics diagrams schematics circuits diagrams weapons technology technology

My mind reaches back and recalls everything that the Klingons already know. If I am compromised, that is the first of the information I will give up to them.

Where is your captain where is your captain where is your captain where is your captain where is your captain give up your captain he is here he is here he is here we know we know he is here where is your captain where is your captain where is your captain

That, I will never give up. I avoid thinking about him entirely.

"Governor Kor, we are not getting any useful information."

"Then increase to Force 5."

The pressure and clawing changes into something finer, like sharp nails carefully hammered into my thoughts. Another strategy. I set up a wide loop of thought based on Vulcan meditation, focusing on the constant feedback of my body. I consider my heat beating, the blood flowing through my veins, the oxygen absorbed by the cells, the details of each cellular process, the energy expended, then follow the trail of electrolytes released through cellular membranes, consider my nervous system.

Where is your captain where is your captain codes technology technology plans plans ship design improvements locations of Federation ships secret bases intelligence missions information classified classified classified codes codes weapons developments where is your captain where is your captain technology war war campaign strategies fleet movements fleet maneuvers maneuvers advantages intelligence intelligence counterintelligence

Some of these I do not even have the answer to.

An electrical storm is building in the back of my brain. The machine senses this and pushes on it. It's found a weakness, and looks to exploit it.

"Increase the force again. We might yet get something from this intractable Vulcan."

My nervous system. My nervous system. My nervous system. The machine presses and presses on me squeezing for answers and any thought I might have. My nervous system responds to that ever increasing pressure by converting it into another form, one that is extremely painful but can be expelled. At a cost, always at a cost, but better release the unending pressure than to allow it to accumulate under my skull.

"If not, then take him out of the machine and try again later. Our tests have shown that after repeated use, the machine becomes more convincing."

I will myself to relax into the surge that spikes across my brain. My shields are firmly in place. The remainder of my interrogation, the Klingons only receive recordings of an intense migraine.

--

Where are your men where are your men where are you men where are you men what are you plans what do you know where are your men what are you plans what do you know

My second time in this machine. The men and women in place have been creating chaos and confusion, blowing up the Klingon's energy supplies and compromising their building materials. Kor is furious, and it is evident through the mindsifter.

Names faces descriptions soldiers names faces where are your soldiers where are your soldiers where is your ship what are your plans what do you know codes codes plans plans schematics diagrams information information what do you know plans plans

I endure. I am Vulcan. I endure. This is not pain, but sheer pressure in my mind.

Where is your captain where is James T. Kirk where is James T. Kirk where is James T. Kirk

A surge of joy that he is safe. I hide that thought away from the machine. Even the slightest indication of my emotion would give away his location. They suspect, but I will not confirm their suspicions.

Where where where where where where where where where where now tell tell where

Kor is impatient.

The pressure increases and increases until I can detect cracks in my shields. Among Starfleet officers, they call this machine the mind ripper sometimes. I thought once that it was because the machine completely destroyed the mind as it extracted answers, but now I understand that is not the case.

It is called the mind-ripper because of the aftermath. When the pressure is gone, everything disintegrates, everything is cracked and shatters from the application and sudden removal of that pressure. The sensation is that of the fabric of one's brain being ripped apart.

I can see the possibility, but will not allow that to happen. I consciously prepare my mind once more, setting up the mechanism by which the pressure exerted can be converted and discharged. When the Klingons finally increase the force of their machine, everything reaches a critical point and I unleash my own defense. Strange that pain which leaves me almost insensate to the rest of world is the means by which I have a chance to keep my mind and protect Jim.

--

"What business do you have here, Organian?" the Klingon demanded.

The sound ripped through my brain and tearing through my neural networks as though they were pieces of tissue paper.

"Kor wants him," a voice replied.

In the middle of my battle against this pain—that I willingly unleashed—and the electricity that pierces every part of my mind, I recognize the voice. Jim. What is he doing here?

I attempted to open my eyes and stand from where I was seated on the floor, but even the dim light of the prison made me nauseous. I had already purged everything from my stomach, immediately after the third session. The guard was particularly delighted by the sight and sound of me, expelling everything I had eaten. It was a feedback loop—every single contraction of my muscles caused my migraine to intensify, and the intensity of my migraine caused me to continue dry heaving. I am not certain how I broke that cycle.

"We have no orders from Kor. The prisoner stays," the Klingon sneered.

Leave Jim, before they discover you too.

"Yeah? Well then what's this," there is a sound of a device being unlatched.

"Fine, Organian scum," the guard spits out. "Take him."

"Thanks," Jim retorts.

I cannot open my eyes. It hurts to hear. Still, my brain cannot help but process every single sound that is around me, even as the sensation is that of ten thousand needles being plunged into my head.

Jim neatly picks me up, takes my left arm and puts it over his neck. He walks. I stumble along. I have no idea where we are going. There is an electrical storm building behind my eyes and the pain of it is incredible. Let it not be said that the Klingons are not thorough. My mind did not tell them anything, but information is never the only objective of torture.

"Spock," Jim whispers.

The sound hisses and crackles and sets every single brain cell on fire. I try to find some way to eliminate the pain, but it spreads and takes on a life of its own. I have no choice but to relax into that burning wave.

"Captain?" I manage.

"You holding up?"

"The mindsifter should not be underestimated, captain. It reached directly into my mind. Certain Vulcan mental disciplines," a surge courses through like a circuit overload "aided me in shielding and resisting their attempts to take vital tactical information. As you can see, however, I am still incapacitated by the aftereffects. A migraine," a bloom of spikes impales my mind "of considerable magnitude."

"What do you need?"

"A dark, quiet room. I will be fine, Jim. I simply need a place to meditate."

"I think I know a place."


	110. Ch 110

_How can you be so fucking indifferent?_

Jolted my awareness. I emerged from my meditation. Something disturbed me, the sharp edge of powerful emotion. Jim's emotions.

The pain in my head was manageable. I stood from the floor and walked towards the door. It opened into a hallway. I walked down, until I came upon another door, behind which were raised voices. I opened the door—it was the council's chamber. Jim stood before the five elder council members like a petitioner before a court. I slipped into the room and stood beside Jim. He looked at me in surprise, but only paused briefly in his argument.

"Then stop them. Stop this war between the Federation and the Klingons—you have the power to do it!"

"War is a historical necessity captain. We see no reason to stop this conflict. Out of it will come marvelous advances in technology, ones that will assist you further in space travel, I might add."

"Technology? This isn't about technology and some notion of progress. You have the power to prevent this war, prevent millions, billions from being killed! What other justification do you need?"

"You do not understand, captain. History repeats—yes, history repeats itself. You do not understand. If lives are not lost here, then they will be lost somewhere in the future. Wars between empires are inevitable. It has always been so, and so it shall always be. Earth men and Klingons will fight, and they will fight again in the future," Ayelborne replied calmly.

"Time and time again, we have seen it. You see, in the grand scheme of things, this will only be a paragraph in the pages of galactic history. It will pass, captain, do not upset yourself."

"Don't upset myself? Don't _upset_ myself? Lives are going to be lost because you couldn't be bothered to prevent this war—I don't care about some distant future, I'll cross that bridge when I get there. I care about _now_, the present, this moment exclusively, not this moment as part of a continuum. You can help us by stopping both sides and forcing them to hash through the talks! It's so fucking easy for you to do it, so why don't you?"

"We see no purpose to interference. The forces of this universe are beyond our control, and war is an inevitability. Quite tragic that your time happens to be the one that it takes place, but all will proceed accordingly."

"You cannot prevent every conflict, captain. No intelligence or power is able to do that," Claymare added.

"I'm not asking you to prevent every conflict, I'm asking you to prevent _this_ one."

"That is exactly what you do not understand, Captain Kirk. There is nothing particular about this time or this circumstance. It is like every other war that has taken place, even though the details might vary. They vary only slightly. Why should we prevent this war between your empires, when it is inevitable?"

"Stop saying that word. It's not fucking inevitable, and this situation is fucking particular—"

"We understand why you are upset by our noninterference, but your mortality prevents you from seeing the larger scale of this universe."

"No, you've got it wrong. My mortality lets me see everything clearly. Your immortality makes you indifferent. You think this time isn't special because you've lived through every time and probably every place. Fine. You've probably seen tons of wars, so many that you think history cycles over and over on some sadistic wheel. Maybe it does. But just because events repeat and situations aren't unique, doesn't mean the people in them aren't. Those millions of lives? Every single one of them is unique. You won't find another person in this fucking universe who's exactly like them. Those millions of lives make each time unique, and the individuals lost is what makes war fucking unacceptable."

"I see, captain. You liken the people unto snowflakes, where each one is made up of a unique crystalline arrangement, though from any other distance, they are indistinguishable. What you are suggesting is that we save every snowflake from the inevitable thaw, when all must melt away. Do you see the absurdity of your proposal?"

"Stop distancing yourself and fucking intellectualizing everything! These aren't snowflakes—they're _lives_. Do you understand what that means? They have thoughts, they have free will, they act, they feel and hope and dream, they have fears—"

"And they will all die. What difference is it, captain, if they die in battle or if they die having lived a few more years?"

"A few more years makes all the difference! You can do so much living with a few more years! You guys are immortal, but us? There are people out there who'd do anything for just a few more years, or even just a few more minutes. There's no reason why they shouldn't have it because they got killed fighting Klingons."

"Captain, you do not understand. You believe that nobody wants this war, when in fact there are many who celebrate it, and still others think it is necessary. Your own kind see the inevitability of this. Why do you continue to argue, when there is nothing you can do? One man can do nothing against the weight of time."

"You see too narrowly, captain. You think you are saving lives now, but in the future, there will be war again and it may consume more lives. Accept historical necessity, and do not fight against this."

"War is _not_ a historical necessity. It's not some sort of release valve for violence. We can prevent it—you can prevent it, if you'd just stop looking at this like you're totally removed from it. It's fucking _real_. War is ugly and damning. It's broken bodies, blood floating in a vacuum. People die, real people with family and friends. Why can't you see that? Why can't you see that?"

"We are sorry that you do not understand. Your lifespan is so short that you do not know what we have learned, you cannot possibly imagine our knowledge on this matter."

"No. I do know one thing," Jim said quietly. "I know that you're indifferent. You don't fucking care, you don't see the real cost here, in the present, because you've lived so long and you've studied so much. Nothing is real to you—it's all part of a process. Soldiers dying, people suffering, you know it through your tomes of history, but you don't know it."

He paused and looked at me.

"If you won't stop this war for millions, then do it for me," Jim said, an edge of desperation in his voice. "If you won't stop this war for the countless number of lives and systems it might effect, then do it for me."

"For you, Captain Kirk?"

"We will give you our protection from their weapons."

"No," Jim exhaled. "Not for me like that. I'm ready to die, if that's what's gonna happen," he looked away.

"Your words are not clear."

He looked at them again, blue eyes piercing, almost as though he was willing them to understand. Suddenly, all around me I could sense an intense feeling flooding the room, Jim broadcasting waves of emotion and

_never had the chance can't live without him brother best friend he'll die oh god they'll take him and he'll die never knowing not fair never had the chance can't live without him heart stops please i need a chance whole universe to discover with him can't let him die can't live without him never had the chance would they let us say goodbye stolen kiss and desperate words lying together in an unmarked grave? i need a chance i need a chance please i can't live without him he needs to know needs to know can't die lifetime ahead of us never had the chance please give me a chance_

Ayelborne clutched his heart. Claymare brought his hand to his head. Tears streamed down his cheeks. Trefayne and the other Organians were similarly effected.

_need a chance need a lifetime need a moment can't live without him please give me one chance one chance all I'm asking for one chance can't live without him please give me a chance_

"Very well captain," Ayelborne nodded. "We will help you."

--

"Sentimentality, mercy. The emotions of peace—your weakness, Captain Kirk! The Klingon Empire shall win. I am disappointed in you, Baroner. You seemed a man I could respect, a killer in the midst of these fools. We Klingons are predators, hunters, and it is precisely that which makes us great. And there is a universe to be taken. Now I see that you choose the same road as the pathetic."

"Power isn't just about force, Kor."

"Force conquers. Today we conquer. We are strong and willing to take what we desire, and that is power."

"Everything has a limit, and the kind of power you talk about is brittle. It's strong, but it will break. Someday the pressure you keep putting on all your conquered worlds will be so unbearable that those worlds will implode. Then what do you have? Is it really worth it to have an entire planet of mindless slaves?"

"We conquer all we desire, something you will never understand. Better to be master, better to be a Klingon warrior and live for the kill than to be a mere man and live in fear."

"I'll admit it. You Klingons are magnificent soldiers, like the legendary Spartans that we had back in Earth history. But a culture totally based on war isn't stable, just like this Organian culture totally based on thought is fucking inhuman. What the hell happened to you guys? You used to have a flourishing society and halfway decent government.

"Now you're under constant surveillance. You're a commander and a warrior, spied on by the very empire that you serve. What kind of power do you have? What does it matter, when you aren't free to choose your actions. Your society right now, no one has power, and no one is free. This war you want so badly, it's the only time you're able to fly freely and command as you see fit, isn't it. That's why you're so eager to fight.

"Kor, where's the honor in running away from your own battle? Because that's what your empire is doing. True honor has been perverted to something twisted, but no Klingon has the courage to admit to that. Instead, you guys decide you want to fight a war against the Federation to distract yourself from the real problem, and to reassure yourselves that you're still a power after Nero demolished your fleet.

"Real power doesn't need to do that. It doesn't need to execute 200 civilians a day to enforce the law. Power's when your subjects follow the law because they want to follow the law."

"I have long known that the old ways of our species have been tarnished. It is like a rusted sword, and few remember the meaning the word honor. Even so, we fight and take what honor we may have. My world is not perfect, but your own Federation is also an empire. You have tried to hem us in, cut off our vital supplies, strangle our trade. To survive we must expand! Your people were shaken and scared of Nero, so they sent you, a young and reckless captain out to space to make themselves feel secure. You violated treaties by invading our space. We have legitimate reasons to go to war against you—Klingons do not run from their battles."

"Then talk with us, like you're doing right now. We can figure this out diplomatically, without wasting millions of lives, on both our sides."

"We have a saying in Klingon, Baroner—choose to fight, not negotiate. You give us no choice, captain. You have enlisted the aid of the Organians and they freeze our ships and our weapons."

"You always have a choice."

"For a man who does not believe in war, you made all the preparations for it. Destroyed innumerable supplies with your hidden force of men, trained them and drilled them to the utmost on our technology. You led an effective army of saboteurs, and I have no doubt that you know every instrument of warfare. Yet you speak of talks and peace."

"I was told at Starfleet by one of my commanders, _si vis pacem, para bellum_. If you want peace, prepare for war. But I read another one—_si vis pacem, para pactum_. If you want peace, agree to keep the peace."

"Keep the peace—what you are saying is that it is another way of preparing for war. You might send soldiers to keep the peace."

"It means whatever I need it to mean."

A silence between them. Kor looked at Jim and seemed to measure him, while Jim stood tall and sure before the hulking Klingon.

"It would have been an honor to pit my skill against you on the battlefield. A victory against a worthy enemy."

"Maybe we'll meet again in that arena. But not today."

"I will be prepared for that day, Captain James T. Kirk."


	111. Ch 111

"We're patching through in five minutes, sir."

"Jim, if they ask you anything about the Federation's policy towards the Orion System, the answer is—"

"I know, Nyota. I'm not gonna say anything that pops into my head."

"Captain, Admiral Nogura wishes to speak to you on the channel."

"Great. Just fucking great. Put him through."

"Captain," he frowned. "You still haven't put on any weight."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"What do you think," the Admiral asked someone offscreen. He returned his attention to Jim. "We're going to touch up your image before any of this goes on the air."

Jim resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Why is that necessary, sir?"

"Isn't it obvious? Can't have you looking like the angel of death when you're the most popular captain the whole Alpha Quadrant. You don't look anything like you did a year ago, Kirk."

"Thank you, admiral. I always wanted to know if you thought I aged gracefully."

"You've still got that tongue of yours, that's clear enough. Now, if they ask you about the Orion system—"

"I know, stick to the Starfleet script, Orion is considered a neutral system, etc etc. Sir."

"Their questions should be focused on the miracle you pulled with the Organians. Did you review the preapproved list of questions we sent you?"

"No."

"Admiral, we never received such a list of questions," Nyota answered for Jim. "I've looked through all transmissions received in the last 24 hours and there is nothing from your office of that description."

"We're live on air in two minutes, sir."

"Admiral, I'm gonna have to terminate this conversation soon."

"Wait a moment, captain. I called to let you know that the board's decided to commemorate you for your services with the Palm Leaf of Organia Peace Mission, Starfleet Medal of Honor, and Starfleet Citation for Conspicuous Gallantry. Congratulations."

Jim suddenly looked tired. The moment passed, and he saluted Admiral Nogura. "It's an honor, sir."

"A pleasure. Good luck. Nogura out."

"Live in one."

Nyota walked towards him and adjusted his uniform. They caught each other's eyes.

"Don't say it," Jim warned.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Jim," she replied quietly. "You deserve them. You earned it."

"Thirty," the technician counted down.

Nyota backed away and looked at her handiwork. Jim sat in his command chair in perfect military posture. She nodded to herself, satisfied by his appearance, gave him a quick hug, and left to watch on the sidelines. I went to leave with her when the captain reached out and touched my arm.

I turned and gave him my full attention.

"Fifteen."

"Spock."

"Fourteen."

"You will perform admirably, captain. There is no need to be apprehensive."

"I know." He paused.

"Eleven."

"That's not it."

"Ten."

"Then what, Jim?"

"Nine, Mr. Spock please get to the sidelines, eight."

"I—"

"You will be fine, Jim," I put one hand on his shoulder, then removed my touch. "I must leave."

"Six."

Jim exhaled, then nodded. I quickly walked from his command chair.

"Five."

Jim's eyes seemed to be far away.

"Four. Three. Two."

He remembered himself, straightened, and looked directly at the viewscreen.

"One. We're broadcasting."

--

Lehrer Gaestel: I talked with Captain James T. Kirk, this afternoon by video conference. Captain Kirk, welcome.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: Thanks for having me.

Lehrer Gaestel: We've all heard or read about your mission to Organia and the unexpected outcome of that mission there. Tell us a little about that.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: I received notification from Starfleet that the diplomatic talks between the Klingons and the Federation were breaking down. They ancipated that there would be some kind of suprise attack or sortie into the borders of Federation space. I was assigned to protect and investigate the planet Organia, while the U.S.S. _Comanche_ went to Omergo and the U.S.S. _Kalam_ went to Orkon.

Lehrer Gaestel: When did you find out that the Organians were eternal incorporeal energy beings?

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: Early into the mission. Starfleet's files recorded that Organia was populated with humanoids stuck in a static civilization. My First Officer and I quickly found out that wasn't the case.

Lehrer Gaestel: How did you think to try and negotiate with the Organians? As I understand, your mission was strictly military, and your objective was to prevent the Klingons from establishing a base on that planet.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: It was a gamble, to be honest. I had nothing to lose from talking to the Organians and trying to convince them to stop the war. Also, the situation was such that if they didn't interfere or help us in some way, my security teams, my First Officer, and myself would be found out, tortured for information, and summarily executed. When you face those kinds of consequences, you grasp at any idea that you have.

Lehrer Gaestel: And you were successful.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: Yeah, fortunately.

Lehrer Gaestel: There are some people who are vehemently opposed to the interference of the Organians. They think that war against the Klingons is a necessity, whether in the context of intergalactic politics or interstellar defense strategies. Was your decision only conceived from your trying to save the lives of your men, or were there factors involved in that choice?

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: It's kind of ironic you say that, because the Organians didn't want to interfere either.

No, there were definitely other reasons for my decision. There had to be, since the Organians rejected practically every single justification that I offered. But I stand by my actions, and I'm not sorry that we aren't going to war.

Lehrer Gaestel: Your position on this has surprised many people. You have a reputation in Starfleet for taking risks; people thought that you would welcome the war and the dangers that come with it.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: If this had happened immediately after the _Narada_ and right when I got my captain's commission, I would probably have been all for it. War definitely has some kind of seductive quality. The first time I was in a real battle, underneath the adrenaline, I thought the destruction was beautiful. The feeling you get blasting something to pieces, the sheer power of your weapons and the awesome might of the explosions is indescribable.

That quickly fades away, though. You see another side.

Lehrer Gaestel: What about those people who say that this is a fight of freedom against the tyranny of the Klingon Empire, what do you have to say to them?

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: I think I'm too close to the battlefield to make an objective statement on that. Maybe on some large and abstract scale, you can make this war about ideologies and justify it that way. But for me, it's hard to remember you're fighting for something that abstract when you're in the middle of battle. You know, I think when it comes down to it, your average Federation and Klingon grunts fight for the same thing.

Lehrer Gaestel: And what would that be?

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: The guy next to them. Their family and friends. For the fallen. They see their mission through to the end not because of some ideal, but because others, fellow soldiers gave their all and died for it. Personally for me, I complete my duties to whatever end because my crewmembers saw theirs through, and some have died for it. No one can desecrate that sacrifice, even if you're not exactly sure what they sacrificed for.

...but I'm sure that if I ever become an admiral or something, I'll see things from a different perspective. I'm not a pacifist—if I have to fight, then I'll fight. Sometimes you have to do that, go out and kill to protect or uphold something. There are times when diplomacy just isn't an option.

Lehrer Gaestel: What times would those be?

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: To be honest, I'm not sure. I'm still figuring things out.

Lehrer Gaestel: Let's talk about your future and the possibilities there. Are you planning on staying Starfleet, making your career there?

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: I don't know. I'm taking things as they come. This is only my second year on this mission, and anything can happen.

Lehrer Gaestel: Ever since your first success in the Romulan spy mission—that is, secondary to your first ever mission with the _Narada_—people have been very interested in your future career. There's quite a few who'd like to see you run for office. Would you ever consider that?

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: Run for office? Me?

Lehrer Gaestel: Yes, whether in planetary or Federation government. Your diplomatic record is exceptional, for a captain in his second year.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: Thanks, but I don't think I'll ever run for office. I mean, at the place I am right now, I can't imagine myself trying to get myself elected to anything.

Lehrer Gaestel: You've never considered the suggestion? The idea has been discussed on the nets for quite some time now.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: This is the first time anyone's mentioned it to me. I don't really have time to keep up with all the things that're going on in the nets.

Right now, the only time I'd think consider doing that is if there were no one else for the job, and even then I'd only do it for a few years, enough time to train someone else up or something. Other than that, no. I don't have political aspirations.

Lehrer Gaestel: You mentioned already that this is your second year as captain of the _Enterprise_. Can you tell us something about how you're handling the stresses of that job?

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: I have to say it'd be ten times more stressful if I didn't have the crew that I have. My First Officer, Commander Spock, I rely on him like no one else. And the rest of my crew, a lot of the times with these emergencies, what I ask from them is almost inhuman, but they give it to me anyway. Lt. Commander Montgomery Scott has pulled us through literally seconds from being destroyed more times than I can count. And my CMO, Leonard McCoy, he's a genius. I think he's patched me together more than should be physically possible.

Lately, with all missions we've been through, I've come to lean more on my Seconds as well. I've been training up two of my senior officers for command posts, and they're doing a great job. My helmsman, Lt. Sulu, and my communications officer, Lt. Uhura, recently got commendations from Starfleet for their excellent handling of the Gorn situation on Cestus-3. And my navigator, Lt. Chekov, he's being recognized by the Interstellar Physics Association for his recent discovery of a new fundamental force and his new theories on possible materiality of time. That's just a few examples from all of my crew.

Lehrer Gaestel: I read about Lt. Chekov's accomplishment. He named it after you?

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: It's something of an inside joke between all of us.

Lehrer Gaestel: It sounds like you have quite a remarkable group of officers to work with.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: They're the best. Half the things people credit me with doing is actually them. It's an honor to work with them every day.

Lehrer Gaestel: Starfleet also has recognized you with three medals, is that not true? The Palm Leaf of Organia Peace Mission, Starfleet Medal of Honor, and Starfleet Citation for Conspicuous Gallantry. I have here that it brings your total decorations to five—one for saving Earth, and the other from the Romulan spy mission.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: I think you knew about it before me. I was just notified by Starfleet right before this interview.

Lehrer Gaestel: Any reactions? You've broken another record, being the youngest captain to have this many commendations.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: It's an honor to be recognized, but in all honesty, I was just doing my job. There wasn't anything particularly heroic or gallant about what I did.

Lehrer Gaestel: Captain, we only have a few more minutes, so if I could ask you some last questions?

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: No problem.

Lehrer Gaestel: Is there anything you regret about your career with Starfleet thusfar?

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: Sure. There are some decisions, especially earlier in my captaincy, that I would have handled much differently, given what I know now. But I can't get hung up on that, since if I always looked back, I'd drive myself crazy. The best I can do is learn from my mistakes and promise to do better.

Lehrer Gaestel: How do you feel about Starfleet's recent decision to put you on an intense schedule of highly sensitive missions? Has it taken a toll on yourself or your crew?

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: I have some opinion about Starfleet piling on all of these missions, but it's not important. Emergencies and situations like that don't wait until things are convenient for you, so me and my crew just deal with it. We've got ways of managing the stress.

Lehrer Gaestel: Have there been any acute cases of PTSD on your ship?

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: Of course. We try to help the men and women suffering from PTSD as best as we can, but it's really hard to do on an active ship like ours. All of them want to stay on board usually, but if my CMO recommends it, we drop them off at a medical facility. You need time, space, and a safe environment to process things like that. If they want to reenlist with the _Enterprise_, they're always welcome to come back.

Lehrer Gaestel: Now one last question.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: Sure, go for it.

Lehrer Gaestel: You stated in an earlier interview last year with InterGQ that you agreed with Starfleet's strict fraternizatin policies. There's been debate and a petition to change that, especially for five year missions such as yours. What do you think of that?

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: Starfleet might come down on me for this, but on my ship, I've never made a special effort to enforce the fraternization policies. As long as they don't interfere with the performace of the crewmember, I don't see anything wrong with fraternizing. A lot of the time I think it's healthier for them, since they can share the stresses and daily grind with someone. And, you know, romance, gossip is always a nice, easy distraction from the high tension you can encounter on a starship.

Lehrer Gaestel: But, if you don't mind me asking, you yourself do not have a partner.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: No. Not yet.

Lehrer Gaestel: Well, Captain Kirk, that's all the time we have left. Thank you very much for talking with us.

James T. Kirk, Captain of the _Enterprise_: My pleasure.

--

"You did great, Jim," Leonard clapped him on the back.

"They didn't ask the Orion question you guys were worried about."

Nyota smiled. "Need anything else, captain?"

"You take the conn. I need to get outta this uniform."

"No problem."

"Where's Sulu?"

"He had to go check up on something with Scotty in the engine room. They said to tell you sorry they missed your interview."

"Nah, it's not a big deal."

"Keptan, this is going to be broadcasting with political analysis later. Are you wanting a recording?"

"I'm just gonna go to sleep. Spock, you need to meditate, right?"

"Affirmative."

"We're gonna turn in guys. See ya in a few hours."


	112. Ch 112

"Spock, you there?" Jim's voice came over the terminal.

I answered. "I am here, captain."

"Can you come over? We have to talk."

"I will be there momentarily Jim."

"Do you still have the tricorder with the Keeler timeline?"

"Affirmative."

"Bring that too."

When I entered Jim's quarters, he was at his computer terminal. The scarf from New York lay on his desk. He stood.

"Did you bring it?" he motioned for me to take his seat. Jim sat down beside me.

I put down the tricorder and looked at the monitor before me. The screen asked for a password.

"It's 77652. And before you say anything about insecure passwords, I'm not an idiot. I'm setting up an account for you, but we've got to do a couple things first."

Jim's computer apparently utilizes facial recognition technology, in addition to fingerprint identifications and a retina scan. It requires a voiceprint and the answer to a peculiar question: "Citizen, what is your name?"

"My name is James Tiberius Kirk," Jim answered. "Now your turn. And remember exactly what you say. If the next time you access my terminal and you say the wrong thing, it'll shut down on you it's a pain for me to fix."

I nodded.

"Citizen, what is your name?"

"I am Spock."

I was not aware that the captain had so many layers of protection on his computer.

"You should see my firewall," he laughed. "No, but I found out right at the beginning that my captain's computer has zero privacy. The Federation can monitor it and take whatever it wants from it, and I can't set up any kind of security. And there's some stuff that I don't want anyone to know. This extra terminal is probably illegal—"

"It is highly illegal, Jim. If anyone reported you for it, they would confiscate the machine and attempt to break its security. There is possiblity that you would be stripped of rank and court martialed."

"They won't get anything out of this. I've programmed a physical self destruct sequence if it's ever compromised."

I looked at the tricorder. Jim's intentions were becoming apparent.

"Yeah," he breathed softly. He looked at me and nodded. "We can keep the history you recorded—Vulcan and human, right?"

I nodded.

"We'll send that to Starfleet and their historians and they can have a field day with it. It's probably a gold mine of information."

"And the timeline of Edith Keeler?"

"I don't want to delete it. There's an off chance that it might be useful someday, and," he paused. Jim's eyes were distant. "I don't want to just erase her or that city from memory. We're gonna download it onto my terminal, wipe the memory banks of the tricorder—I want you to do a _really_ thorough job of that, Spock, no mistakes."

"Understood, Jim."

"Download the data into my terminal and leave it there, until we need it or until . . . something. My death. I dunno."

I connected the tricorder to Jim's computer and initiated the information transfer. It would take some time, as the amount of data we collected was substantial.

"Spock."

"Captain."

"If I die—you're the only other person who has access to this computer."

I did not desire to speak of the possibility of the captain's death.

"Jim, our jobs are hazardous, but you will not—"

"No, stop, Spock, this is important. You're the only other person who has access to this computer. I haven't given you full access to all its parts, but if I die, go through all the security, then punch in 'cd JTK33284' into the cmd window. You'll have to jump through some extra hoops, but after that's done, you'll have access to everything."

I was at a loss for what to say. "What do you wish me to do with those files, captain?"

"Keep them. Listen to them, if you want. Some of them are captain's logs. Really, the files aren't that exciting. I'm just paranoid. Don't give them to Starfleet. I'm not gonna have some Starfleet historian mess around and write a book about my life. I've already seen some of the shit people write, questioning the decision my dad made on the _Kelvin_. Or even Pike's decision, handing himself over. Who the fuck are they to say anything? They weren't fucking there."

"You are afraid that you will be misinterpreted?"

"I _know_ I'm gonna be misintepreted, Spock. Sometimes I wonder if I'll be remembered as the biggest accidental mass murderer in the history of all time. Six billion Vulcans. 600 million humans. And probably a lot more before we're through."

"Jim, in the past three missions, you have established diplomatic relations with twp previously unknown alien species, prevented civil war from consuming a planet, and singlehandedly saved the diplomatic talks between that were proceeding between the Federation and the Klingon Empire. Furthermore, you cannot truly believe that you are responsible for the deaths on Vulcan or the deaths caused by the Third World War."

"First of all, I couldn't have done any of that without you or the _Enterprise_. Sulu and Nyota were the ones who showed the Metrons that we're not merciless, Nyota was the one who actually talked to the Gorn. You, the Emperor, and Slladdek were the ones who figured out that whole treaty. And the Organians saved the talks. And for Vulcan, that's not what I meant. I know I didn't pull the trigger. I didn't create the singularity, I didn't bomb out New York. But," he looked away. "But I feel like I could've done something, changed the rules or changed a variable, and prevented it all. Saved billions of lives. I dunno, sometimes I can't help but think about 'what ifs.'"

"Captain, it is unlike you to doubt your decisions."

Jim stood and paced for a moment. He stopped before me.

"I'm human, Spock," he said quietly. "Remember before we beamed down, remember how Ensign Galloway said that the _Enterprise_ is the best ship in the Federation?"

"I recall the incident."

"They think I'm a hero."

"Who, Jim?"

"Everyone. It's all over the nets, it's in the faces of the replacements. Nogura reminds every single fucking time we have a transmission, talking to me like I'm the prize stallion of Starfleet. They think I'm some kind of demigod, larger than life and invincible.

"Spock, I'm human. Everywhere I go, people think I'm gonna raise the dead or solve all their problems or peform a fucking miracle. You were there for the interview. That guy was serious, they wanted me to run for office and make a bid for a seat on the Federation Council. They don't get it. Everyone says I have the Midas touch, that I turn everything into gold.

"I'm just a guy on a ship. I explore space—that's the only thing I've ever wanted. I don't want to rule over millions, I never wanted that kind of authority. Managing a ship's hard enough as it is. I want to change people's lives, but I don't want to do it by making laws. I just want people to be free. Free to live, think, act, however they feel is best for themselves. I've never wanted power, but people offer it to me anyway.

"But with you, it's different. You've seen me make mistakes. You've never thought of me as some sorta hero—more often than not, you tell me that I'm the biggest idiot in the universe. You've seen _me_, not prodigy Captain Kirk. Not war hero diplomat or whatever the hell they're calling me. So yeah, I think about 'what ifs.' I have doubts. Because you've seen me, and you know I'm human."

Jim stared at the computer screen as the data continued to download from the tricorder.

His words seemed to echo in my head.

_But with you, it's different. You've seen me, and you know I'm human_.

I searched for an answer, but found that there was none. Looking at Jim's face again, I saw a hard glint of experience in his eyes and new lines that spoke of stress and the weight of responsibility. The breadth of his shoulders carried the burden of the knowledge of his power—the power to change the universe and touch the lives of the individuals in it. The youthful boyishness was gone, replaced with the full stature of manhood.

Though Jim does not see why others are drawn to him, I could well understand the reason. It is a greatness of character that cannot be quantified, a compassion that one sees rarely in the universe. It is his strength, the burning confidence he carries in himself that life is worth living, that freedom is worth fighting for, that hope springs eternal. Jim has always had these qualities in him, but they were still untested and unrefined. His confidence was mixed with brash pride and the recklessness of youth, he confused compassion with the pity others had often demonstrated towards him. It is not so now.

He stands before me, not merely human, but a man.

Jim paid a bitter price for this maturity. That this development coincided with the acknowledgement of his own limitations makes my chest tighten, even as fierce pride blossoms within that I serve under such a man. That he counts me a friend. That he has gifted me with his confidence.

"Spock."

"Yes, captain?"

"When I die, I want to be cremated."

"Jim, Starfleet will provide all the funeral arrangements."

"No," he shook his head. "They'll dress up my body, stick it in a coffin, and drape a Federation flag over it. I'm not a symbol for them to tote around."

I did not mince words with him. He relied on me to be honest, so I gave him the truth.

"Jim, you and this ship already are a symbol that millions, perhaps even billions of individuals look towards. They have found something in your life and actions with which they are able to relate, or they have found something that profoundly inspires them. As a symbol, you will be misunderstood. As a public figure, there will be those who believe they know you and those who desire to befriend you. There will be others who criticize you harshly. Your legacy will be studied, biographers will write well structured books and make claims about your life and motivations. Your image will be romanticized, caricatured, vandalized, canonized, manipulated for every purpose imaginable. That is the public life of a public figure, and it is beyond your control. If you are killed in action, I will certainly try my best to see that you are cremated, but I will likely lose against the formidable bureaucracy of Starfleet and the Federation. They will honor your death and your body, but they will also use it.

"I well know that attaining fame and power were never your goals when you became captain of the _Enterprise_. However, the reality is that you now carry the responsibility that all great leaders have shouldered. You are a human, but everyone expects, everyone willfully suspends disbelief and sees you as a symbol. You have become an archetype in their imaginations—they portray you as the lone hero who pits himself against the trials that life puts forward. The inhuman man who conquers every enemy. Your 'adventures' on the _Enterprise _may very well pass into legend. Then, as a legend, you will be immortal."

I looked at Jim. The glow of the computer screen painted his face in chiaroscuro.

"I never wanted that. I don't want immortality, Spock."

He exhaled.

Immortality is a shade, a poor substitute for life itself. In legends, the heart of the life is preserved, but what of the details? What of the times like this, when he is before me, his blue eyes open and his expression weary? The impersonal annals of history will not remember this. They will record that he was a human, mortal, fallible, yet somehow indomitable. But what do they know of the man? What do they know of the cost?

_But with you, it's different. You've seen me, and you know I'm human_.

He stands before me, apart from me. He stands and he is exhausted by everything we have been through. The captain's mask that he slips on so easily is nowhere in sight. Yet he continues on. He walks forward, carrying the fallen and forgotten with him.

"_Stay," he whispers, holding me close._

That image comes to my mind once more. Jim, standing on the Brooklyn bridge, wind rushing through his hair. That indescribable expression on his face—pure freedom. He walks beside me with no outward sign of his thoughts or emotions. The figure of a man set against the bridge cables, blue sky, yellow light, and city skyline.

_I don't want immortality, Spock_.

_You believe in me? _his blue eyes glow in the darkness, the deep burning light of the galaxy in that gaze.

_W__hither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge__._

_I don't want immortality, Spock._

"I know, Jim."

He sat down next to me.

"Yeah. I know you know," he gave a small grin.

An easy silence fell over us.

"Captain?"

"Yeah?"

"How many hours have you been able to sleep per circadian cycle?"

"Uhm—"

I gave him a look.

"I take naps?"

"How long are these naps?"

"Two hours? If I'm lucky."

Another look.

"I dream," was all he said.

I did not need to ask what he dreamt of.

"They'll go away. They always do. Give it a week."

"That is unacceptable."

"Spock, there's nothing you can do about it."

"There are certain Vulcan telepathic techniques that may assist you."

"It's okay. I'll be okay. I've gotten this far, haven't I? Cestus-3 wasn't the worst I've seen, though some of that Organia shit might take a while to get over."

"Jim."

"Actually, could you stay over tonight? Do your reports or something in here? It'd help. I hate being alone in this room. Especially after," he trailed off.

I nodded. "Of course, Jim."

"Great."

--

He is asleep, his breathing light. I am careful to make as little noise as possible, as he wakes easily.

A memory.

"The test itself is a cheat, isn't it? I mean, you programmed it to be unwinnable."

"Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario."

"I don't believe in no-win scenarios."

"Then not only did you violate the rules, you also fail to understand the principal lesson."

"Please, enlighten me."

"You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk, a captain cannot cheat death."

"I of all people."

"Your father, Lieutenant George Kirk, assumed command of his vessel before being killed in action, did he not?"

"I don't think you like the fact that I beat your test—"

"Furthermore, you have failed to divine the purpose of the test."

"Enlighten me again."

"The purpose is to experience fear—fear in the face of certain death, to accept that fear, and maintain control of oneself and one's crew. This is the quality expected in every Starfleet captain."

This memory.

I was a fool.

I did not understand the meaning of my own words until now.

_When I die, I want to be cremated. Y__ou're the only other person who has access to this computer._

_I don't want immortality, Spock_.

_You believe in me?_ he asked me what seems like an eternity ago, before we arrived on Deneva. I replied that I had "gathered extensive data and performed careful analysis and obtained significant statistical results."

It was a clumsy answer—I used too many conjunctions. I should have been honest with him and simply answered yes.

I believe in him. I have killed for him, I have lied for him, I would die for him. I have stood by him, and I would follow him to the ends of the universe. I have seen him, and I believe in him.

Jim sleeps, his breathing light. I never thought I would be privy to his thoughts, that I would see the day when he acknowledged his own limits, his mortality and accepted it with grace and dignity.

There is no computer simulation in the universe that can teach that. There are few men who could endure it and continue on. Most would have become disillusioned, the fire in them extinguised. Yet Jim still burns with conviction. He does not believe in the existence of no-win scenarios not out of blind denial and stubborn naivete, but out of hard won experience. He doubts, he stumbles, but he does not allow the ruthless grind of reality to wear him away. Instead, as a sculptor chisels away a block of marble, so experience carves him into a masterpiece.

_But with you, it's different. You've seen me, and you know I'm human_.

Galactic history will remember him as a great human. In their dusty pages they will erect a marble monument to his life and service.

What will they remember of the man?


	113. Ch 113

The crew of the _Enterprise_ gathered in the recreation room. Sulu and Pavel were already at a table. Pavel was chattering away with the latest news from home while Sulu shuffled a deck of cards. Nyota and Christine approached the table, carrying drinks and food.

"Okay, Cardassian sunrise?"

"_Eta ya_."

"So the Yuengling's yours."

"Yup. Thanks, Yota."

Nyota smiled. "Chris, where do you want me to put your Klabnian fire tea?"

"Just set it down right here. Does Spock eat pizza? I've got one replicating right now."

"No. He doesn't eat cheese."

"Oh, that's right. I suppose I'll go find something to cook up." She exited the room.

"What're we playing?" Nyota asked, setting down three Budweisers, two Guinnesses, two Odell 90 Shilling ales, a pitcher of sangria, and a bottle of Avery Mephistopheles' Stout.

Nyota has always been very fond of alcohol in social gatherings.

"Hearts," Sulu answered. "Teams of two, rotating players for each round. Me and Pasha, Chris and Doc, you and Scotty, Jim and Spock's how I figure it. You know how to play?"

"I think I learned once, but I don't really remember."

"I am not understanding this ridiculous game Hikaru is describing. I am thinking _esli mui igraem v karti_, if we are playing cards, we must be playing poker."

"No way. I always lose to you, and I have no idea why."

"It's those big innocent eyes of his," Nyota chuckled. "And I wouldn't put it past him to have developed a system for counting cards in poker."

"_Ya_? I am not doing such a thing," he protested.

"I'm onto you, Pasha," Sulu retorted.

"So how do you play?"

"It's pretty simple, really. We've got four teams, so everyone gets 13 cards. The object is to have as few points as possible."

"This has something to do with the queen of spades, right?"

"Yeah. You don't want to win any tricks with hearts—hearts are one point eacth, or the queen of spades—13 points, unless you're shooting the moon."

"Who is hearing of _takoi_ ridiculous game, shooting moons. Is there shooting the sun too?"

"You're just pissed off because you wanna play poker."

"_Tochna_."

"What's he whinin' about?" Leonard interrupted. He surveyed the choice of alcohol, picked up the Mephistopheles' Stout, and gave a low whistle. "Who got this jewel?"

"I thought you'd like it."

"Damnit woman, where have you been all my life?" he opened the bottle and took a sip.

Nyota simply laughed.

He and Sulu raised their bottles to each other and took a drink.

"What're we playin'? I'm not playin' poker, not while that Russian's at the table."

"See?" Sulu looked pointedly at Pavel, who was shaking his head in dismay. "We're playing hearts."

"Great. I guess it's teams?"

"Yup. Where's everyone else?"

"I'll go drag Scotty away from engineering," Nyota volunteered. "That man."

"Pizza's here!" Christine announced as she walked in.

"I love the women on this ship," Leonard declared emphatically.

Sulu and Pavel both took slices. A few moments later, Nyota returned to the room with Scotty in tow. He seemed to be complaining, but Nyota simple handed him a 90 Shilling ale.

"What's this? Yeh think that just givin' me a beer's gonna make up for draggin' outta that lab when I was in the middle of makin' a breakthrough?" he absentmindedly took a sip. "Because you've got another thing comin' ta yeh, lassie. I'll have yeh know that," he took another sip "messin' with transportin' formulas isn't a walk in the park. Next time, I'll transport _your_ beagle across the universe and see how yeh like it then." He took a slice of pizza and continued to follow Nyota around.

"Scotty—"

"Do yeh know how long I've been workin' on perfectin' this formula? Do yeh know how many opportunities open up when yeh consider space as the thing that's movin'? I thought not."

"Scotty, you were trying to beam a pile of grapefruits into the transporter room of the _Farragut_. They're going at Warp 8 through unexplored space right now!"

"So Geffen and I had a few, shall we say disagreements, in the past."

"You were trying to freak him out."

"That doesn't make it invalid for the purposes of research," he said, taking another bite of pizza and washing it down with his ale. "What is this?" he looked at the bottle. "Where did you scrounge this?"

Nyota rolled her eyes.

"Boo," Jim whispered in my ear.

I turned around and looked at him. He grinned.

"Why're you hiding?"

"I am not hiding Jim, I am simply observing the interactions of the crew."

He gave me a look. Yeah, I'm buying that.

"Come on, let's go," he lightly pressed his hand in the middle of my back to push me forward.

"There they are!" Christine exclaimed. "Finally. We can get started."

Jim picked up a Guiness for himself and settled into a chair. Sulu was shuffling cards again and he began dealing them with remarkable skill.

"What're we playing, poker? I'd be up for a rematch with Chekov."

"No," several voices said immediately.

Jim put up his hands in surrender. "All right, I get it. No poker," he took a sip of his Guiness. "Then what?"

"Hearts, in teams of two."

"Cool. Me and Spock're taking you bitches down."

--

"So," Dr. McCoy put down the two of clubs. "What happened down there?"

"Down where?" Jim replied as I kept my attention on the cards. My cards were very interesting. If my strategy succeeded, Jim and I could very well win the game.

"The City on the Edge of Forever," Sulu's eyes went between me and Jim.

"How long are you staying there, keptan?"

"A week—" "Fifteen days—" we replied simultaneously. Jim and I shared a look. "Fifteen days—" "A week—" we tried again.

Jim put his hand on my shoulder and pulled me close. "Let me handle this, Spock," he said quietly.

I nodded.

"We were there for a while," Jim shrugged.

I looked at the expressions on the faces of the crew. Leonard had a smirk on his face, Nyota was beaming. Christine had a knowing look on her face while Scotty simply raised his beer bottle to the captain as a form of salute or congratulations. Pavel had a wide smile on his face and Sulu had a gleam in his eye. Jim ignored them.

"You guys can read my report later."

"I will. But you always leave stuff out, and I'm pretty sure you're goin' ta leave a lotta stuff out for this one. There's no way in hell you and Spock were stuck in the past for just a week."

"Is there a particular reason as to why you suspect this, doctor?"

"Oh, so you're in on this too, are ya Spock?"

"Your use of the demonstrative pronoun 'this' is ambiguous doctor. To what are you referring?"

"Oh, Leonard, give it up. They won't tell you, no matter what you ask," Christine laughed. "They're co-conspirators now."

"About time," Sulu muttered. He seemed to realize something. "Oh shit."

"What? What is happening now?" Pavel examined their hand.

"He's shooting the moon."

"What?" Nyota looked at me. Scotty drew his chair closer to her and peered at their cards.

"Now don't panic," Christine said. "If we all work together, we can prevent that from happening."

"Does anyone know how many hearts he's got?" Sulu asked.

"It might be too late in the game ta salvage it. S'always a throw down at the end, and he's been leadin' th'tricks," Scotty winced as I won another round and took all the hearts in it. "Devious man, Mr. Spock, you're a devious man."

"We are _not_ gettin' 26 points added. Sulu, y'all got any diamonds?"

"Shit, he's wiping the floor with us."

"How the hell did ya let this happen!" Leonard said to no one in particular.

"You are the one distracting us with talk talk, not paying attention to the game," Chekov replied. I could see him trying to find some strategy to prevent my success.

"Does anyone have _anything_ that could—ugh!" Nyota exclaimed as I won the round again, taking another heart.

Jim simply watched me lay my cards down methodically and dominate in each trick. A slow grin spread over his face when the final round was complete and he laid out all thirteen cards and the queen of spades.

"You," he said.

I nodded.

"Damn, we are _awesome_!"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Indeed."

Everyone else seemed have murderous expressions on their faces.

"Never letting that happen again," Sulu moaned.

"_Soglasno_."

Scotty laughed. His raised his bottle to me. I nodded. He took a swig.

"All right then. Jim, yeh're a dead man."

"Bring it."

--

"Okay guys, I'm gonna call it a night," Jim got up from his seat.

The beer bottles were empty, pizza crusts were piled on plates. Everyone was relaxed, the alcohol relieving the stress that had built up over the past four missions. There were no emergencies, none of the crewmembers interrupted with queries and unresolved problems. We were able to play two rounds of the game, each time going to 100 points. The first round was won by Dr. McCoy and Christine Chapel—she is surprisingly proficient at many varieties of card games.

"Well, it's the fastest way to make friends. My father's job had us moving around a lot, and I found out there's no better way to meet others at school than playing cards. I know quite a few games. I've invented some too."

The second round was won by us. Despite the fact that Pavel succeeded in shooting the moon, Jim and I consistently avoided accumulating a high number of points.

"Aye. I'm a wee bit tired myself," Scotty yawned.

"Oh no. You're not going anywhere, not until we've done clean up," Nyota ordered.

"Bloody slavedriver, this woman. I dunno why I put up with it," Scotty grumbled even as he gathered beer bottles and deposited them in the chutes. "Nyota, I've got a better idea."

"No."

"We can take this, and use it for my transporter experiment. It's brilliant! It'd all be goin' towards a good cause, in the name of science."

"No, Scotty. Take this," she shoved another pile of trash in his arms. "Crazy Scotsman."

"I heard that!"

Jim leaned in towards me. He looked at Nyota and Scotty thoughtfully. "I think he likes her."


	114. Ch 114

We have been invited to a gathering of the diplomatic elite on the planet F-Mihrsej. Jim adamantly did not desire to attend, but his presence is required, as he is one of the guests of honor. Since the broadcast and the news of his many accomplishments, Jim has become quite popular among various political figures in the Federation, in addition to alien worlds.

"If the man wanted ta become president of a planet, he'd just have to bend his little finger and five would come runnin' offerin' him to be king of their world," Leonard grumbled.

His statement is something of an exaggeration, but the number of messages Jim has been receiving over subspace radio has increased exponentially. The first time he opened one of these messages on the bridge, a woman appeared on the viewscreen and declared her everlasting love and devotion to Jim. The message contained several proposals of marriage, including repetitions of the statement "I want to have your gorgeous babies." Jim sat in his captain's chair, reddening with embarrassment as the bridge crew around him laughed hysterically. Mr. Scott was literally crying as he watched the video and the captain's reaction.

"Will you guys just shut up!" Jim said, head in his hands. "Oh god, I'm never gonna live this one down."

I suspect that Nyota, expressly against Jim's orders, distributed copies of the message to others. Everyone the ship has seen it and often quotes from the video directly. Jim takes it all in stride, though he was annoyed when Pavel and Sulu began to reenact scene while they were on shift. Pavel pretended to be the woman proposing marriage

"Oh Jim, you are making me wild! Keptan, please, let me be hafing your babies. I want it bad, I want all of your handsomeness Keptan Kirk. And we will be making sweet romance all night—"

While Sulu pretended to be the captain and accept the proposal

"Baby yeah let's do it I'll ride you hard oh yeah baby—"

"Oh keptan!"

Jim spent the remainder of his shift chasing Sulu and Chekov around the ship, threatening bodily harm to them both. He did not succeed in catching them.

"You guys are _dead_! You hear me? _Dead_!" he yelled as I removed the phaser from his grasp.

"Jim," I looked at him.

"What? It wasn't funny!"

"I understand that such actions as teasing and 'making fun' are forms by which Terrans express their affection for others."

"So? I know that. It still doesn't make it funny."

"After all we have been through, a little humor is not unwelcome."

"Not when it comes at my expense," he pouted.

I looked at him. "We have some free time. I believe I promised you that when all our missions were over, we would chess box."

Jim brightened. "Really? I could go for some chess boxing."

By the end of two matches, Jim was exhausted but happy. He radiated satisfaction.

I judged it an ideal time to approach him concerning the diplomatic party.

"Fine, I'll go," he sighed. "But only if you come down with me."

"Nyota, Ensign Bollinger and I will accompany you."

That is how I have found myself in a mansion on the planet F-Mihrsej, faced with a diplomat who seems determined to make every advance towards me as possible. The creature—I am not entirely certain if it is male or female—does not seem to understand any of the nuances of body language. I doubt that it would understand the meaning of 'no.' I look around subtlely for Jim, who is also tangled on conversation with a heavyset diplomat, talking about the details of an economic deal between two obscure star systems.

He is bored, that much is certain. The heavyset diplomat does not see this. However, it occurs to me that no one can see that Jim is bored, as he has his captain's mask firmly in place. He nods and comments intelligently in all the right places. It also occurs to me that our actions mirror each other, as I am also nodding and commenting politely in all the right places while my mind concentrates on Jim.

The meaningless drivel of this diplomat's idea of conversations goes on for hours. Then, in the corner of my eye, I see Jim neatly disengage himself from his conversation and come towards me.

"I'm sorry, I have to borrow my First Officer for a while," he says, an edge to his voice.

I look at his hand on my forearm. Frustration, anger, jealousy comes through our contact.

"Jim? Have I done something to upset you?"

"He—she—it—whatever, was coming onto you. It wouldn't fucking leave you alone."

"There is no need for you to become offended on my behalf, captain."

Jim drags me into a dark and empty room.

"Jim, the diplomat of Mycua-tres-liaa will not be amenable to suggestion if we do not accomodate—"

"Fuck diplomacy," he breathes, pushes me against a wall, and wraps his right hand around the base of my skull.

He kisses me.


	115. Ch 115

He kisses me. Softly.

Then harder.

The world stills as an unnamed feeling courses through my veins and I am only aware of his touch.

Before I am able to respond, he breaks off the kiss. For an infinitesimal moment, an eternal interval, we stare at each other.

He suddenly moves to leave. I reach out and grab his arm. His emotion comes through my touch, the fuck fuck fuck it wasn't supposed to happen that way shit fuck ruined fucking everything way to go don't leave me don't leave me I can explain want to kiss you wanted to touch taste feel you kiss and touch and fuck shit control yourself kirk fuck shit don't leave me please don't leave me I can explain

I draw him close and kiss him. Softly.

disbelief

I kiss him again, softly. He kisses back.

I break the kiss and take a step back. Part of me cannot believe that this is happening. Where did this impulse come from? I burn inside and feel complete.

I inhale.

He takes another step forward and brings his body close. And kisses me again, slow and intimate. His eyelids flutter and I'm met with the sight of his blue eyes.

_If I profane with my unworthiest hand  
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:  
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand  
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss._

I respond tentatively, then more. My eyes close on their own accord. Our mouths are uncoordinated, my nose bumps against his.

He is patient, he is persistent. He angles his head just so, brings his right hand to my face and guides my mouth to move along with his.

_Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,  
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;  
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,  
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss._

My lips part briefly and he changes the rhythm. Now faster, now slower, brushing my upper lip, teasing my lower lip.

I reciprocate. His left hand grazes down the side of my face, brushes my psi points, skims my neck.

Then, his tongue ever so slightly touches my lips. His left thumb traces the line of my jaw.

_Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?_

I pull away, inhaling and exhaling, chest rising and falling. I cannot begin to catalog the contradictory sensations I feel.

Jim looks at me with a gleam in his eye and draws me to him again, his pull insistent.

_Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer._

I did not know tongues were so sensitive.

_O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;  
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair._

I rest my hands on his hips as he and I explore each other's mouths.

He is playful, he is passionate. He places his right hand on the base of my skull and the other on the small of my back and pulls me impossibly close.

_Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake._

The kiss intensifies as Jim coaxes me deeper and deeper into it. I respond with equal fervor.

_Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take._

We break apart, breaths ragged. Jim's blue eyes blaze. I look at him, taking in the sight of his face—the planes of his cheeks, the smooth curve of his forehead, the inner corners of his eyes, the ridge of his nose, the arch of his eyebrow, slight indent of his temple, the depth of his philtral dimple, his rounded Terran ears, the even line of his hair.

_O trespass sweetly urged!_

I kiss him softly and trace the outline of his upper lip with my tongue. I press my lips to the left corner of his mouth, then up his jaw line to the base of his left ear. My right hand explores the curve of his hip bone.

Jim stands very still. His eyes are closed. He audibly inhales when I experimentally nip his ear.

_You kiss by the book_.

I discover his neck.

He moans.

I slip my hand under his shirt.

His hands pull me close once more and kisses me. He is demanding, he is decisive. His tongue ranges over the intricate geography of my mouth, then retreats and he lightly bites and sucks my lower lip. I moan and feel Jim's pulse quicken under his skin. I break away then reengage. I return his favors by taking my own time to find all the crevices of his mouth. My hand is tangled in his hair and our tongues are entwined when

"Captain Kirk?"

We break apart slightly, breathing heavily. Jim has a gleam in his eye that suggests if we keep quiet, the intruder might leave.

Nyota's voice. "Ensign, I already checked that room. I think the captain might be outside in the garden somewhere, or the greenhouse. Why don't you check there?"

A pause.

"Jim, Spock, you have ten minutes before you both have to make appearances again. I can only make excuses for so long. And next time, find a room with a door."

Without waiting for a reply, she leaves.

Jim silently laughs into the crook of my neck.

Jim looks at me, a brilliant grin on his face. He whispers into my ear in low tones.

"She deserves a promotion, don't you think?" he kisses the tip of my ear. "Or at least a commendation."

Before I can reply, he kisses me and his hands are under my shirt, up my back, cool hands leaving a delicious trail as they range over my torso. I shudder from the contact.

wanted wanted wanted dreamed of this for so long wanted oh god Spock wanted dreamed fucking fantasized Spock so much better in reality don't disappear don't be a dream don't disappear don't leave me don't leave me

The intensity of his emotions, his longing and aching confuse me. I shift my focus from his emotions to his actions, which are simpler and exquisitely stimulating.

Ten minutes pass too quickly.

_Anon, anon!  
Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone._

We attempt to make ourselves presentable.

Before we exit the room, he kisses me and I return it. Then he releases his hold. I walk two steps. He grabs my arm again and kisses me again, then finally pushes me out the doorway.

I keep walking down the hallway to the main room. Before I step out amongst the diplomats, I pause behind one of the large columns and compose myself. My heart flutters strangely and every breath feels like a revelation. Something courses through me, intoxicating, and it threatens to consume me.

I suppress the feeling as best I can, and join the party of diplomats again.

Periodically I catch Jim looking at me, his eyes burning bright.

Nyota comes to me with a sly expression on her face. "_Mapenzi ni kikohozi, hayawezi kufichika_."

I look at her questioningly.

She gaze turns steady and serious. "We've known for a long time."

I nod, rather puzzled. A Tellarite diplomat accompanied by her aide are coming towards me, apparently desirous to discuss some matter. Before I leave Nyota, she takes hold of my arm.

"Don't hurt him, Spock." She lets go.

Nyota's words cause my chest to tighten. I force myself to relax and control myself. There is something burning inside me—I will not let it consume me. I turn my attention to the diplomat. The remainder of the evening, I feel Jim's eyes watching me.


	116. Ch 116

Jim and I stand opposite each other on the transporter pad. We have just beamed up from the planet. He glances at me. I look straight ahead, then turn my head to see him. His eyes are clear blue and they search me, pierce me to my very katra. For reasons unknown, that terrifies me. I suppress the feeling.

This development is unexpected. My heart rate is elevated, part of my mind remembers the moments in the darkness when we kissed. Another part of me is unsettled. There is something in me that I cannot name and cannot identify. Has it always been within me? It seems to be rooted deep inside. Somehow I know that if I let it loose, it will consume me. Something whispers that it has already consumed me.

Mr. Scott coughs. "Not to, uhm, interrupt captain, Mr. Spock, but it might be a good idea ta clear the pad. Some of the lads and ladies down planetside would like to get back on the ship."

"Oh, sorry, Scotty. Yeah. Right."

"No no, captain, take your time," Mr. Scott grins.

I swiftly step off the transporter pad and move to exit the room. I can hear Jim following after me. I find myself torn between slowing my pace and increasing it. Why did I deem it necessary to walk quickly in the first place? It seems that my body answers for me, because Jim is walking beside me now. He quickly steps in front of me and prevents me from going forward.

He opens his mouth to say something, then looks around. Men and women walk the corridors, going about their duties. Some are giving us speculative glances. Jim takes hold of my forearm—

_don't screw this up, Jim, don't screw this up. breathe. breathe. don't screw this up. fuck what the hell am I gonna say? breathe._

and leads me to his quarters. He does not let go. Everyone can see his hand on me. I revel in that touch, the cool temperature of his grip seeping through the material of my dress uniform. Then I stop. I examine that reaction. What is its point of origin?

We stop in front his quarters. He keys in his security sequence, never releasing his hold on me. The doors open and we enter the room. Jim commands the lights on, the bulkheads close behind us. He lets go of my arm. Jim walks towards his desk, his back to me. I remain by the doors, unsure of where to stand. He seems to be rehearsing something in his head. My heart flutters—it is the only way to describe the way its irregular beating in my chest, my mind races and ruthlessly analyzes the situation. I cannot help but compile statements and calculate probabilities in my head.

Is it possible? He is attracted to me, that is clear. Something in me soars at the thought. I pull it back down. He wants me—he has wanted me for a long time. My hands tremble slightly as I recall the texture of his skin. I force them to remain still. Given my reaction, I acknowledge that I am physically attracted to him as well. How did this attraction develop? I follow this line of inquiry.

Jim and I have spent much time together in close quarters, especially in our months in the city. Thinking back, I realize that I became aware of his body and physical presence: Jim's body flush against mine in the subway, Jim's cold hand on my face as he feels me burning up with a fever, Jim emerging from the washroom, towel wrapped around his waist, skin red from the hot water, hair dark with water. He walks about the room searching for clothes. As he bends, the muscles stretch under his skin. Jim's body curled into mine, my arms around him as we lie in bed.

Thinking back, I realize that in certain contexts, these memories contain erotic elements.

That must be the source of our mutual attraction. I can recall times when I was not fully dressed and Jim would glance at me as I put on my shirt. It is understandable that he, as sexually active, healthy Terran male would took notice of me. It is likely that his attraction to me began there. When he kissed me, that was something of a catalyst and his initiation of that action allowed me to become consciously aware of my own attraction to him.

I follow that train of logic. Standing behind him, I find that I would not be averse to exploring certain other possibilities with him. The ideas is simply an extension of a sequence of thoughts I have already been considering. It is a corollary to a theorem. I recently accepted the fact that I am half human. That naturally has some bearing on my biology. Furthermore, in New York I became accustomed to the attentions and invitations of the restaurant guests, and I was not altogether opposed to their proposals. I was not particularly interested in accepting their offers, but this new variable that Jim presents is intriguing.

Something inside rebels against my logic. The thing that burns and consumes is not satisfied by my conclusion. I push its protests aside. My rationality is sound. I will not risk anything. I will not let this, whatever it is, fierce and terrible, spin out of control.

I step forward, confident that I am once again on stable ground, back on safe territory. Only a few moments have passed since the doors closed and I found my solution. Jim's back is still to me.

I close the distance between us and carefully kiss his neck. Jim's surprise comes through the contact, and he turns around to face me. His eyes are blue and piercing, lighting a fire in my katra. Suddenly I am unsure again and the ground under me tilts as Jim presses his lips to mine very softly. I bank the flames.

"You've been driving me crazy for I don't know how long," he says and he kisses me again, harder.

He licks my lips, then gently exhales. The sensation of cold air on my lips is indescribable. He kisses me, catches my lower lip in his teeth and slowly bites and sucks. He kisses me deeper, coaxing me into him. He draws out the kiss—it is heated, it is intricate, it is ardent. One arm comes around me, holding me in place and his other hand comes to my face. His thoughts

_I can't believe this is happening I can't believe this is actually happening I can't believe this is happening oh god oh god it's happening he's in front of me with those eyes that voice those lips his tongue this kiss this isn't a dream this isn't a dream he's here with me in my room in my room dark looks and green skin and those eyes_

I carefully take hold of his forearm and remove his hand from my face and kiss him. I make a movement to step away, but his embrace prevents me.

"Stay with me?" he whispers.

Contradictory feelings surge up inside me again. Part of me immediately relents. I will stay with him, I want nothing more than to be close to him and feel the beating of his heart against mine. Part of me backs away, terrified by what that means.

"You can borrow my stuff."

I push the fear aside. It is only one night. I have shared a bed with him before. Objectively, nothing about this situation is different from those previous.

I nod.

He goes and retrieves two sets of clothes from his drawers, setting one down on the desk. I efficiently strip down and change into his apparel. Jim unbuttons his dress shirt, then takes it off and hangs it in his closet. His body is taut, skin and muscle stretched tight across the breadth of his chest. He has still been eating too little, exercising too much.

We attend to our hygienic needs. When he looks at me in the mirror, his expression open, I am simultaneously soaring and suppressing that feeling.

In bed, he wraps his arm around me and closes his eyes. I lie awake, counting the beats of my heart and forcing it to slow. He sighs, his body relaxes, and I am almost undone. A tide surges over me but I do not let it consume me.


	117. Ch 117

"So, what're we looking at here?" the captain asked Sulu.

"Anyuta-k, Class M planet, mixed population of all kind of species, so much so that none make up a majority. That has caused some issues and cultural misunderstandings, but that's beside the point. The planet is an agricultural and timber colony thanks to its incredibly old and structured soil. On Earth, it's called Ferrosols, or krasnozem—"

"That is Russian word. It is meaning red earth," Chekov chimed in.

"It's a deep red soil, very porous with relatively high clay content, and it's prized among farmers for its ability to hold incredible amounts of water. This is pretty important because the colonized region of Anyuta-k doesn't get that much rain, but plants are able to grow at incredible rates and heights because of the integrity of the soil.

"The ecosystem of this planet is really interesting. It's got these amazing eucalypt forests, a lot like the ones you find out in Australia on Earth, and they're like literal walls of wood. The trees grow together really densely and they grow to unbelievable heights. When they're young, they might grow up to a meter per year. As they get older, they growth rate slows down, but I've seen one of these types of forests on Earth. They just tower over you. It's really puzzling to botanists how these trees are able to grow so much in so little time when they actually seem to have only average photosynthetic capabilities, compared to other trees.

"Anyway, this sets up an interesting scenario. The particular species that we're concerned with here reproduces after forest fires. Fires have to happen, and the whole cycle starts over again. This situation is pretty common in such dense forests like these, but what's convenient for nature isn't exactly that convenient for colonists. The eukalypt forests, since they're so tall and have so much mass, have huge amounts of energy stored in them. Like, on the scale of an atom bomb type of energy. When a forest fire begins, it just sweeps through and burns everything down to the ground.

"Typically fires don't happen that often. Even though Anyuta-k doesn't get that much rainfall, it actually rains pretty regularly, replenishing the soil, keeping the threat of fire at bay. But they happen. The conditions become dry—temperature increases, relative humidity decreases, and actually you can get wind speeds up to 200 km/hr. The only thing that's needed is a random element to set everything off because this forest just becomes a bonfire waiting to happen. That random element usually comes from lightning storms. Just one spark from a lightning storm, a fire starts, it reaches the canopy of the forest, the incredible winds fan the hell out of it, and you've got acres upon acres up in flames.

"I've actually seen and studied this situation a lot back on Earth. I took a trip down to Australia, but California also gets massive forest fires too. The soils and trees are different, but the conditions are essentially the same. Once something like that starts, there's really nothing to be done except evacuate the people, set up fire breakers to contain the flames and let it burn out. So on Anyuta-k, there's been a bad drought this summer. It's just a matter of time before a lightning storm or some idiot camping in the forest sets everything off.

"The colony needs help with evacuation, and that's our main mission. We might be able to provide a little assistance in terms of medical treatment, or lending a couple guys to fight the fire, but that's for later. In an agricultural colony, everyone is so far apart and isolated, it's hard to get them to leave the area. That's especially true for farmers, who never want to leave the land. It'll be kind of a long mission, but if all goes well, nothing should happen and no one will get killed. The colony has enough resources to help everyone rebuild. They've already projected possible damages based on past data."

"You've got your teams together?"

"Yup. Chekov volunteered to man the transporter, I've got another guy for a second transporter room. Security teams have been briefed and they're ready to beam down right now. Christine's getting the Sickbay ready. Doc said he'd help when he could, but he's operating and taking care of the Cestus-3 survivors, now that we have some time to breathe. I'm going to the surface to oversee everything, smooth out any disagreements. People are bound to get angry about having to leave their homes."

"Great. Spock, go down with him and back him up. Sorry that you have to handle the mission on your own, but Nogura's set me up with a round of follow up interviews. Nyota's being my press agent, thank god."

"No problem, captain. We've got it covered."

"Right. But let me know if something goes wrong."

"Yup."

"Okay. Good luck. You guys're dismissed."

--

The day was clear and for me, quite temperate. The Terran officers immediately broke out into a sweat, but the dry heat reminded me of the climate on Vulcan.

"Okay. So the colony government promised to give us a couple of vehicles, so we can go from door to door and evacuate the people who are still out there. They've been broadcasting on their news and the local nets for people to get out, but this report here says that a lot of people are still at home. The drought's reached a critical point now, so we really need to get those people out."

"Should we let them bring their stuff?"

"No. I mean, maybe one small thing they can carry, but the transporter rooms are gonna be hectic as it is, beaming them onto the ship, then down to prepared colony shelters. More matter increases the chances of some kind of transporting mishap, so we have to keep things at a minimum. And you guys all have to cover a huge area.

"Okay. So I've got the prepared padds with lists of colonists still at home, their addresses, maps with all the usual options. Optimal routes should be calculated in their for you, and you can read up a few facts about forest fires if they refuse to leave. Seriously, these people have the right to stay, but don't leave without them. A fire _is_ going to happen, and they _will_ die if they stay. If they need more incentive, I've also downloaded the colony government's projected plan of recovery."

"Kind of a boring mission, eh Sulu."

"Boring, but important. One thing I learned from the commander—always have a good mission plan. Things go so much smoother that way. One thing I learned from the captain—always be prepared for something to go wrong. And this mission, guys, has huge potential to go really wrong. That's what all the extra training on firefighting was for."

"Hey lieutenant, where's the equipment we need?"

"We're waiting for the colony government to beam some stuff to us right now. As soon as it gets here, divvy it up, load it in your vehicles, and go on your assignments. Notify me or Spock immediately if you see any sigh of lightning, any at all."

The necessary equipment materialized before us. The officers quickly set to the task of dividing the equipment and taking it to their assigned vehicles.

"Oh, and one last announcement before you go. If there's someone who just absolutely refuses to go and threatens violence or something, forward their information to me and the commander. We'll take care of it.

"All right, that should be it. Good luck, and let's hope the day stays clear."

--

The Tellarite male held a shotgun to us.

"Get offa my land! Get offa my land! I aint leavin' the place, I aint leavin' my home you goddamn sons of bitches, get offa my land!" he screamed, took aim, and shot two rounds.

Sulu and I instinctively parted. He ran towards the man, providing a target, while I ran the opposite way and approached the man's house. He was reloading his ancient firearm when I simply nerve pinched him. He slumped to the floor.

"I'll never understand crazy people," Sulu said, breathing heavily. He bent down, took the shotgun from the man's hand, and threw it aside. "Pasha?"

"_Da, ya gotov_."

"One to beam up."

"Mr. Spock is nerve pinching this one again?"

"Won't he get a nasty surprise, waking up to find himself in a loony bin," Sulu muttered. "It's tempting."

I agreed. "We might recommend to the colony government that he undergo psychologic treatment."

"Nah, I was just joking. He's one of those types who just needs to live alone. Either that, or he's—"

From the house, we could here sounds of soft crying. The curtain of the front right window moved slightly.

"I believe there is more than one occupant in this house."

"That's weird, no one else is registered," Sulu tried the door. It opened with a creak.

We walked towards the window into a room that contained a large sofa, an armchair, bookcases filled with children's boardgames and old hunting magazines, and a fireplace, all in rustic Tellarite style. Sulu went, turned on the lights, and began to check in small corners of the room.

_don't take us don't take us no no no no grandpa! strangers bad aliens strangers hurting grandpa! please please don't find us don't find us stay quiet mouse mouse quiet mouse hide and seek from bad aliens bad aliens grandpa!_

"Hey," Sulu said quietly. There was a small girl curled into herself, hiding her head with her arms wrapped around. "It's all right. We won't hurt you."

He knelt down to her level, but did not reach out to her and approached her slowly.

"Hey, it's all right. We're here to help you. Was that your grandpa?"

She began crying, her whole body shaking with small sobs. Sulu held out a hand to her, but she tried to push herself further into her corner.

_don't find us don't find us go away go away pretend close eyes bad aliens not here so scared scared scared grandpa grandpa gone bad aliens grandpa gone bad men take us away scared scared scared big girls don't cry go away don't find us_

Us. There is another. I went to go find the other child while Sulu calmly, slowly, in even tones kept repeating that we were there to help her.

I found the child, an infant. I estimated that it was approximately two years of age. It needed immediate medical attention, as it was undernourished. Given the fragmented thoughts of the child, I gathered that something had befallen the family that both children would be residing with their ailing grandfather.

I carefully cradled the child. He had been sleeping, but now awake and recognizing himself to be in the arms of a complete stranger, began to wail. The young Tellarite girl burst into the room and snatched her brother from my arms, rocking him even as she was crying as well.

Sulu followed after her. He put one kneed to the floor again to stand at her level, this time communicating with her directly.

"It's okay, we're sorry we woke him up. It's okay, we won't hurt you. We want to take you back to your grandpa, and we promise we won't take you away. I promise, Galba, we won't hurt you. I'll go with you, okay? We'll take you to your grandpa and you'll be together again."

She shook her head. Sulu seemed to have an infinite amount of patience. He pulled something out of his boots. It was an old and worn picture of three children—Sulu, Sayomi, and Katsu.

"See? That's me right there. I have sisters too. I know what it's like to want to protect them, but sometimes you have to let adults help you. We won't hurt you, I promise. I would never hurt you, like I would never hurt my sisters."

Galba peered at the photo, then looked at Sulu cautiously. He held the photo out to her. She shifted the weight of her brother onto one arm and took the picture with her free hand. She seemed to examine with curiosity.

I took out my communicator. "Mr. Chekov, please be prepared for three to beam up."

"Okay sir, I am a little busy for right now but you are being next in line."

"Understood. Please contact us as soon as you are ready."

Galba looked me. "You're a Vulcan."

I nodded. "I am."

"I thought all the Vulcans died."

"Most of my species were killed, but there were a remnant who survived. I am among that number."

She turned her attention to Sulu, clutching both her brother and the photo. "Cross you heart?"

He grinned. "Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye."

Galba scrutinized him, then seemed satisfied. She walked towards him, but seemed unsure. Sulu, in a purely human gesture of comfort, held his arms out. She went into that embrace.

"Are you being ready, commander?"

"Affirmative. Please lock onto Sulu's and the two children's signals."

"You're not coming with us?"

"I will continue on. We still have more houses to cover, and I believe I will be able to manage on my own, for now."

"All right. I'll be back down with you soon."

--

"That was a nightmare. How long do your nerve pinches last, Spock?"

"I assume that the Tellarite woke and began raging."

"Only as Tellarites can. I had to pull Nyota, who saved the day. Who knew she could yell as much as they gave, in Tellarite?"

"She does have exceptional proficiency in speaking that language. Nyota was very fond of engaging in prolonged arguments with her fellow Tellarite friends at the Academy. They all thought it was great fun."

"Fun?" Sulu blinked. "Whatever works. She finally managed to get the guy to listen and actually consider the danger he was putting the kids in. He fumed for a while, but you could see how the words were getting to him by the end," Sulu shook his head. "I don't even want to know what she told him.

"And then Galba would not let go of me. She wouldn't trust anyone else, the whole time I had this tiny Tellarite clinging to my neck. I pulled a favor with Christine to look over her and keep her entertained with card tricks while Doc McCoy was examining her brother," Sulu paused. "I gave her that photo. She seemed really attached to it.

"So this is the next house?"

--

"I don't care what you say, it's not safe."

"Ma'am, our transporter technicians are the best that you'll find anywhere. It is perfectly safe, we won't let you disintegrate or suffer an accident. This is just routine, average, and there's nothing hazardous about it."

"What about that time the Betazoid was transporting and suddenly, the power systems failed! They were just dispersed to matter! No, anything can happen."

Sulu seemed exasperated, though the expression was subtle. It had been a long day.

"Ma'am, my best friend is manning the transporter station right now. He's a genius, and I guarantee you he won't let you disintegrate."

"You never know with these new fangled pieces of technology. Why the other day, I read about a young couple transporting to their honeymoon resort and they were fused together!"

"I would trust my friend with my life. I already have. He's saved me and the commander here from death a hundred times. I personally guarantee you that it's perfectly safe."

"Let me see it first."

"Pardon?"

"I want you to test it first."

I could almost see Sulu count to ten. "I really don't have time for this, ma'am. The commander and I have to get going to other houses. If you want to stay and face certain death, or leave and face the possibility of death, that's your choice. I can't force you to leave."

The woman looked around. "Can I take all my cats?"

--

"Sulu, will you tell me why the hell my transporter room's filled with kittens?"

"It was the only way the lady was going to leave her house, captain."

A pause. In the background, the sounds of meowing.

"People are crazy."

"Yup."

--

"This is one of the last houses?"

"Affirmative."

"I don't like the way the sky looks," Sulu peered up. "We've gotta do these fast. Feels like the perfect conditions for a lightning storm."

We were nearing one of the houses built deep in the forest. A wealthy colonist evidently desired to live in complete isolation. The trunks of the trees swayed and groaned as the wind picked up speed. Between the leaves of the canopy, the sky darkened. Everywhere around us was the intense dry heat brought on by the drought.

"Guys, the last team just beamed up their people. The science officer isn't liking the signs on the planet. Get outta there as soon as you can."

"Understood, Jim."

"Spock—"

"Yes captain?"

"Be careful."

"Of course."

Sulu made no comment, only looking at me briefly.

--

"I won't leave my house. I built it with my own two hands, and I'll die with it."

"You don't understand, you're sitting on something that's going to release almost an atomic bomb's worth of energy. You have to come with us. A single lightning strike and there won't be anything left here to identify you by."

"I thank you gentlemen for seeing through your duty, but I will not leave this house. I've lived a long life, and I don't mind dying now."

"It is not simply a possibility of death, sir. This is a certainty." Sulu and I were both reaching the end of our patience with these colonists.

"Then so be it."

Right at that moment, thunder boomed.

"Pasha, beam us up, _now_."

"I am trying, I am trying but I am getting too much interference from ions of lightning storm. You and Spock must get out of forest and to some place where signal is stronger. I am telling you coordinates now. Follow the path you are taking back down, turn right—"

Thunder cracked through the air.

"Keep talking," Sulu yelled into the communicator. The winds were rushing at incredible speeds, it seemed the whole forest would collapse in on us. Right when we reached our vehicle, a jolt of lightning struck it. Thunder exploded in our ears.

Sulu and I looked at each. We began to run, tearing down the path as Pavel gave us instructions.

It is impossible to outrun a forest fire. Sulu and I could smell burning coming from some distance, the smoke carried by the wind that fanned the flames. Nevertheless, we kept running, trying to navigate our way to a place we could be transported.

"Pasha, when I get back I'm gonna _kill_ you!"

"I am trying, I am trying to cut through interference, _chyort vozmi_! Sulu turn around run away there is fire coming and I am calculating trajectory. Keep running, I am finding weak spot in the storm—"

We could feel the scorching heat all around us. As we ran, I looked up. The canopy had burst into flames. Ashes and burning branches began to fall down all around us as we ran and ran, endlessly running as Pavel and Scotty were scrambling to find a way to beam us up. The oppressive waves of heat seared our skin, all the oxygen in the air was being consumed by the flames. It became extremely hard to breath. Smoke, carbon monoxide was everywhere. This affected Sulu particularly. We were no longer able to maintain our breakneck speed, but were stumbling along in the forest. My inner eyelid prevented the smoke from damaging my eyes, but Sulu had no such protection. He began to lag behind.

I took his left arm, put it over my neck, and assisted him through the forest. But the orange plasma was now visible. It was minutes, seconds before we would also be consumed in flame.

We continued on. The fire blazed around us, indescribably hot. We would have burns, Sulu's more severe than mine.

When it seemed that the fire would actually kill us, I felt the transporter latch onto us.


	118. Ch 118

"You bastard," was all Jim said as he got on the transporter pad and kissed me.

"Get of the way, Jim," Leonard said, his tricorder ready and his medical staff already putting Sulu on a biobed to wheel away.

Pavel was hovering over his friend.

"Are they gonna be okay?"

"Yeah. Sulu needs a couple skin grafts, but nothing that can't be fixed. There's the usual damage associated with smoke and carbon monoxide, oxygen deprivation, high stress. You both cut it damn close."

Jim kissed me again, the sheer force of his relief coming through the contact. I broke the kiss and disengaged. There were still duties to attend to.

"Captain," I said firmly. "I must see if the colony requires assistance in firefighting."

"Let Nyota take care of that. She has the conn."

"It is the mission you delegated Lt. Sulu, and as I am more familiar with the details, it is my responsibility to see it to its end."

"Spock, you almost died—"

"But I am not dead. As such, I must complete the task assigned to me, no matter my or your personal desires. We have obligations to uphold, and that is what comes first and foremost, captain."

Jim looked as though he was going to protest. I cut him off.

"You would do the same thing in my stead, Jim."

He nodded, reluctantly acknowledging my point. Jim's captain's mask slipped on, though hurt radiated from his eyes.

"Do what you need to do."

--

As soon as I was off duty, Jim dragged me to his quarters.

"You should have been more careful."

I looked at Jim, somewhat incredulous. "I took all the necessary precautions. There was a one in 2,500,000 chance that the vehicle would be struck by lightning precisely when we needed it most."

"I should've been the one to oversee this mission."

"You had to conduct necessary interviews with the press, which is why you delegated the task to Sulu's very competent command."

"But you almost _died_."

"Jim, you cannot afford to let your personal emotions towards me compromise your ability to lead. This incident was unfortunate, but both Sulu and myself knew the risks of the mission when we undertook it. By all accounts, the mission was actually a success, as we evacuated all but three of the remaining residences.

"Your responsibilities now are such that you cannot manage every mission as you once did. You made the correct decision. Furthermore, in the future when we are on duty, I request that you do not publically display your relief in such a manner."

"What? You mean when I kissed you?"

"Correct."

"Why not? Do you know how fucking worried I was?"

"The thought is appreciated, but we were still on duty, Jim. As a captain, you cannot so visibly demonstrate your feelings for me."

"Are you worried about the fraternization rules?"

"Jim, do you understand that from now on, there must be a divide between your public and private life? This—what we have—that is private. That is reserved for times when we are off duty. While we are on duty, we are the commanding officers of the ship. We not have the liberty to indulge when there are other pressing responsibilities that must be considered."

"I don't think you're telling me everything. I think you don't want people to know about us."

"This is a private matter."

"Everyone already knows about us, Spock. They've been hinting at it for ages."

"Be that as it may, there is no need for us to parade in front of others."

"We're not parading it—you make it sound like we're having sex on the bridge during alpha shift. Look, it's normal for two people involved in a relationship to kiss and be fucking relieved that their partner isn't dead, and I don't see anything wrong with it."

"I do not wish for our relationship to be a subject of speculation among the crew or among the public at large."

"I don't see what the difference is when we already are, and have been for a long time."

"That does not mean it is necessary for us to confirm their hypotheses."

"Why do you care so much about what other people think? They can think whatever the fuck they want, as far as I'm concerned. It doesn't have any bearing on us."

"On the contrary, it has significant bearing on us. Jim, if this became widely known, then it will change the way that others view us. There are some societies in the Federation that are homophobic, there are others who look down upon mixed alien relationships, there are still others that would seek to us our relationship somehow against us. What will you do if some criminal group takes me and demands an unreasonable ransom? Can you truly say that you made your decision objectively?

"There are many ways that this can change dynamics beyond the scope of the _Enterprise_. Starfleet will begin to consider the decisions you make in the context of this—did you truly make the best decision, or were you influenced by me? That is why a separation between our public life and our private life are absolutely necessary, Jim."

"Spock, there's nothing in our relationship to be ashamed of. Why the hell should I accommodate some fucked up society that thinks we're unnatural or whatever? It's their problem not mine. I'm not apologizing for how I feel."

"I know, Jim. However, it is not worth the endless questions and problems that will come about if this becomes widely known. I know this because I witnessed it. When my father married my mother, afterwards there was always discussion as to whether _his_ logic was compromised, for attaching himself to a Terran. My logic was assumed to be inferior, but my father faced prejudice as well. He was defiant in the face of society, but my mother counseled him to ignore the issue. He could not change the opinion of Vulcan society, and things were getting to a point where Vulcans questioned his competency. It also took a significant toll on their relationship."

"So you're just willing to accept their bigotry or whatever fucked up things they think? You're willing to accommodate them by hiding what we have?"

"It is necessary."

"Spock, I asked you this before. But fuck. What the fuck kind of universe do we live in that you've learned to accept all the illogical hatred and bigotry they hurl at you?"

"Jim, what kind of universe do we live in that you have cultivated a completely aggressive instinct towards any and all hostility leveled at you?"


	119. Ch 119

"How are you, Sulu?"

"I'm okay. I've been better. Thanks for carrying me through those last minutes. The heat—my body just couldn't take it."

Sulu had pressure bandages wrapped in various places where he had received skin grafts. There would be no scarring, but it would take him some time to recover from the injuries sustained.

"You do not suffer any psychological trauma?"

"Not anything serious that I know of. I debriefed with Christine about the fire. She's the one I've been debriefing with about everything—the stuff that happened on Cestus-3, the battle with the Gorn, the skirmish we had with the Klingons while you and the captain were down on Organia. It helps keep everything in perspective, which I was kind of losing after Cestus-3. I don't know how the captain does it."

"We all wonder how the hell Jim keeps himself together," Leonard said as he approached the biobed.

"Doctor."

"Spock. You know you've been avoiding your psych evals lately?"

"I have been occupied."

"Yeah, the story of us all," Leonard checked Sulu's grafts. "Just, drag your ass down here when you have the time and find M'Benga. We need to fill those out. And while you're at it, bring Jim down too, kicking and screaming, if you have to.

"Everything looks good, Sulu. You'll be patched up and ready for duty before you know it."

"You know, ever since Jim started training me up to take on command, I think my visits to the Sickbay have increased."

"An interesting hypothesis."

"I think the same goes for Nyota too."

"No surprise there," Leonard said, resignation tinged in his voice. "I swear, Jim's got the weirdest medical history I've seen. It's supposed to be that the higher up you go in the ranks, the safer you are, the less likely it is that you'll get killed. Seems to be the opposite, the way his data goes. Anyway, I'll catch up with y'all later. Spock, remember—evals."

"Of course, Leonard."

I found a chair and pulled it near Sulu's biobed. He looked at me inquisitively.

"If you do not mind, I would like to read to you, as you did when I was blind. I found the experience pleasant."

"Sure. What's the book?"

"I chose the _Iliad_ by Homer, a translation into Federation Standard. Is that acceptable?"

"Yeah, that's awesome," Sulu settled into his bed, careful of his bandages.

I turned to the first page in the digital book.

"Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus' son Achilleus  
and its devastation, which put pains thousandfold upon the Achaians,  
hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls  
of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting  
of dogs, of all birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished  
since that time when first there stood in division of conflict  
Atreus' son the lord of men and brilliant Achilleus."

--

Sulu was asleep. Pavel came into the sickbay.

"_Privyet_, Mr. Spock."

I nodded by way of greeting and stood from my chair. "You may take this seat."

"It is fine, I am not staying long. I must be going to shift soon."

Silence fell over us as Pavel's eyes stayed fixed on Sulu's still form.

"Are you knowing what is hardest on this ship to endure, Mr. Spock?"

I did not expect the question. I looked at Pavel, who like the rest of us, appeared different. I recalled the image of his face not one year ago. The events of the past missions have taken their toll on the crew. A shore leave is absolutely necessary.

"No."

"_Ozhidaniye_."

I waited for him to continue.

"Maybe you are thinking all the battles and emergencies we are hafing. _Chestno govorya_, it is not battles that are hardest, but _ozhidaniye_. Waiting. I am not so often going on Away Missions with you and keptan, like Nyota or Hikaru. I am often times waiting to make sure you are all coming back to the ship.

"But sometimes you are not making it safe, sometimes there is interference and I cannot be beaming you back. Then it is hard, because I am feeling that I haf been wasting time, _kak budto_ I should be preparing for all situations," Pavel shrugged. "I am knowing these feelings are not wery logical, but they are feelings."

A pause.

"There have been times when I have had to wait to learn of the status of the captain, or Nyota, or any of the crew members. It is," terrifying "difficult."

"_Da. Trudno_. Second hardest is when I am knowing someone is hurt. It is wery difficult when all I can be thinking is if Hikaru is okay and not hurt but the keptan is telling me to recalculate trajectory of ship around time field or Nyota is asking me bearing of Gorn ship. But I am getting it done."

Another pause. Sulu shifted in the biobed slightly.

"If I may ask, how do you cope with those stresses?"

"_Kak mozhno. Kak nada_. When I am on the bridge, I am not Pavel Andreyevich, but I am Lt. Chekov. I am doing duty, because duty is keeping us safe and alive, and duty is _edinstvenaya nadezhda_ that I can be yelling at him," he motioned to Sulu "for being _bolshoi durak_.

"And _on chasto delayet camiye glupiye, takiye duratskiye dela_. _Vot, ya ne znayu shto-zh s'nim_. Sulu, he is pilot, he is fencer. He is liking to be doing daredewil stunts. I am physicist. I am jumping over equations, not shuttles to Romulan drills," he exhaled. "_Nu, nichevo. On takoy, hotya sumashedshii_. I am not changing him, I am not changing me, I am not wanting it to be changed. Sometimes I am thinking he is crazy, but that is nothing new."

"And when you are not on duty?"

"When I am not on duty, I am beating everyone at poker, and Hikaru is getting mad at me for taking all his credits. And _opyat, yesho raz, yesho raz_." Pavel looked up at me and gave a smile. "I am not knowing where my thoughts are coming from. It is hard times, it is easy times, but that is how it is for everyone.

"And I am going to be late. I will see you later, Mr. Spock."


	120. Ch 120

After we completed yet another mission on planet Gamma Trianguli IV, I made a decision. With some difficulty and subtle threats to Starfleet Headquarters, I was able to arrange our schedule such that we will be arriving on Starbase 6 to refuel and resupply our ship. After that, we will be heading for the planet Placer for a much needed shore leave. The men and women of the _Enterprise_ are tired. This four day vacation will give them a reprieve from the grueling missions we have been tasked.

Twelve hours before we were set to orbit the planet, Jim came to the laboratory. Dr. McCoy and I were beginning the experimental design of a project we wished to complete jointly. He posed an interesting question.

"So, shore leave. Does that count as private life or public life?" his eyes gleamed.

I looked up from my laptop. Leonard rolled his eyes.

"For Christ's sakes Jim, just ask him what you want to ask, why don't ya."

"Captain, you well know that I never go on shore leave. I will remain on the ship and maintain things here, so that you might be free to enjoy your time on Placer."

"No way. You're not just staying on the ship."

"Is there a particular reason why you find this objectionable? As a Vulcan, the only rest I require comes through meditation. You and the other crewmembers need this vacation far more than I do, therefore it is logical that I stay."

"I thought you might want to," he waved his hand vaguely. "You know."

I waited for him to elaborate, but he did not continue.

"If ya spit it out, it's a lot less painful."

Jim gave Leonard a look. Leonard simply returned it.

"I'm not the one makin' a fool outta myself in front Spock."

"Shut up, Bones."

"I'm havin' too much fun enjoyin' the show."

Jim inhaled.

"I thought you might want to go with me. Get dinner or something planetside. I mean, if you don't want to, that's fine, but you did promise way back before we had those diplomatic talks—or was it after Cestus-3?—anyway, that we'd sit down and have dinner," he rambled.

I found Jim's nervousness to be humorous and somewhat endearing. I made no reply, wondering how long he would continue talking.

"So with the shore leave, it'd be a good time, what since we're getting a break from everything, and you know?"

I did know, but simply looked him.

Leonard was highly amused.

"If you're worried about vegetarian, there are tons of vegetarian places there. Not that I—well I read a review for one place, I think you'd like it—oh wait, you're vegan—"

"Jim."

He didn't hear me.

"They probably have vegan stuff, if they do vegetarian—"

"Jim."

"Or I can cook, you didn't think it was so bad. I could scrounge something up—"

"_Jim_."

He turned his head sharply and his blue eyes bore into mine.

"Yeah?"

"Dinner would be acceptable."

"Really?"

"Yes."

A wide smile appeared on his face. The expression then changed when he realized, "You were playing hard to get!"

"If you'd actually looked at him while you were makin' that spectacular speech of yours, then you'd've seen that clear as day, Jim."

"But you're a _Vulcan_."

"That is true, captain."

"Vulcans don't—you never—"

I raised my eyebrow at Jim.

"Well, that seals it for me. You didn't get that reputation of yours from your ability to sweet talk the ladies and gents."

"Bones, will you just shut up and get outta here? We need some privacy."

Leonard gaped. "In the lab? No. Not when I just set up that idiotic appartus and calibrated it. That took me too damn long for you to go sweep it aside while you decide to do whatever you do."

Jim looked as though he was at the end of his patience. "No, it's not what you're thinking, I promise not to mess up whatever you've got set up here."

"The hell you won't. You two go find your own privacy somewhere else."

"Leonard, we still need to discuss our methodology and the possible proxies to use in order to measure the rate at which the signals are propogated along the synthetic axon."

Jim looked up at the ceiling.

"I was reading some articles on that. The technique Coortern uses is interesting, although I think it can be improved drastically."

I could feel his eyes on me.

"Agreed. However, it does not sufficiently account for the initial conditions. We would have to modify the equations to consider the potassium concentration, and how that might affect the osmotic pressure—"

Jim kissed me, deeply and intimately.

"I think we can hold off on that discussion," Leonard answered.

Jim continued to kiss me and while guiding us out of the laboratory. Right before the bulkheads opened, he broke off the kiss and marched to the turbolift.

"Observation deck," he ordered.

I kissed him, teasing his mouth. Jim would have none of it. He demanded something more intense.

We reached the observation deck and he broke off the kiss again. When we entered the privacy of the deck, he locked the door with his captain's override.

We kissed again. But the kiss, which began with something driven by familiar emotion and natural drives, changed. Underneath it a depth, a force waiting to seize me. Alone on the observation deck, with the stars before us in the darkness, everything transformed and the burning, returned. My self divided even as our kiss grew more and more intimate. Jim was drawing that fire from me, unwittingly setting it free. I clamped down on it, and stepped away from him.

Our chests were heaving.

Jim stepped forward. "What I wanted to ask was—Christine and Sulu made reservations at a lake house for us—Christine, Sulu, Bones, Nyota, Chekov, Scotty, me and you. I wondered if you wanted to room with me. And we could go out to dinner, just the two of us, sometime.

"And it's Chekov's birthday coming up. Not exactly during shore leave, but Sulu thought it'd be cool if we celebrated his birthday at the lake. What d'ya think?"

He kissed me very softly.

My heart was pounding. I exhaled and closed my eyes.

"Say yes," he whispered, kissing each of my closed eyes.

"The ship—"

"Giotto's volunteered to make sure it stays in orbit. I've got everything covered."

Four days with Jim. I open my eyes and that otherworldly blue draws me to him.

"Then I can find no objection to your plan, captain."

Jim laughed. "Just couldn't resist being convoluted, could you?"


	121. Ch 121

The eight members of our party beamed down at various times. Christine and Sulu beamed down with the first wave to confirm and pay for the house we were renting. They volunteered and to clean and set up whatever was necessary in the house. Jim, Leonard, Pavel, and Scotty beamed down the second wave. Jim and Scotty are currently at the local grocery store, buying food for the four day vacation. Jim and Sulu have volunteered to share breakfast duty the remaining three days, Scotty has volunteered his sandwich-making expertise for lunch. Jim and I will make dinner for the crew one night, go out to dinner the next night, and we will all prepare something for Chekov's birthday celebration on the last night of our stay.

Nyota and I are currently on what is called an 'alcohol run.' That is to say that the crew have entrusted her with the purchase of the trip's alcohol. She peruses through the wide selection with the eye of an expert.

"Let's see," she picks up a cheap bottle of red wine. "Do you think we have enough?"

"I believe this is more than sufficient. I am unsure as to why we need so much alcohol."

"Because at least one night, everyone wants to get slightly tipsy," she said absentmindedly.

I took 'slightly tipsy' to be a euphemism for extremely intoxicated.

"I don't know. Have you seen the amount of alcohol it takes to get Scotty drunk? He can literally drink anyone under the table. All of us can handle a lot of alcohol, I don't know how it turned out that way."

She places a bottle of Green Label Johnnie Walker into our cart. There are already three bottles of sake, a bottle of sauvignon blanc, two bottles of merlot, a bottle of pinot noir, a bottle Samarian sunrise, a flask of Saurian brandy, a bottle of Jewel of Russia Classic vodka, a bottle of Chopin vodka, a small bottle of Romulan ale, and several varieties of beer, some of which Nyota admits to never having tried before.

"Does Jim like anything in particular?"

"I do not know. I am certain he will find something that satisfies his tastes in the one of the many types of beer you have decided to buy."

Nyota is still looking for something. We go to the checkout counter—the price is staggering. Everything Nyota is buying seems obscenely expensive. Nyota and the store owner begin haggling the prices. The alien will not budge on any of the prices when something catches Nyota's eye.

"Is that Vulcan port?"

I look to where Nyota is pointing.

The store owner grunts in affirmation. Nyota does not hesitate.

"Give me that for free and I'll pay full price on everything else, that's _my_ final offer."

"Are you kidding lady! Do you know how hard it is to come by Vulcan port nowadays, especially with the planet gone?"

"I think I deserve a little something for buying so much. You don't know how to do business at all if you don't reward your customers."

"That aint how this operation works."

"I'm also communications officer of a starship. I can very conveniently direct a little business your way, if you give me the Vulcan port free and the beer at half price."

Nyota drives an extremely hard bargain.

"Vulcan port, beer at 25% off."

"Vulcan port, beer at 35."

"Fine, fine."

It was still an exorbitant number of credits to spend on alcohol.

"I don't think we'll drink it all. The crew can take whatever's left as souvenirs of our vacation. I know Scotty will either drink all of the Green Label in one go, or he won't touch it at all."

"And the Vulcan port?"

"That's for you, of course."

"Nyota. I do not drink."

"Spock, it's among friends. You're not with the crew at large, you're with us. You can let down your guard a little and enjoy yourself."

"Vulcans do not drink."

"Yes they do. You're staring at it. Now let's go find Chekov a birthday present. You don't turn nineteen every day, you know. And I almost forgot—do you have a swimsuit?"

"No."

"Well, let's go find you one."

--

We arrived at the house bearing gifts and alcohol. Some might consider those two words to be synonymous.

"Hey!" Sulu opened the door. He took one of the boxes of alcohol from Nyota. "Finally, you guys are here. Scotty's taken over the kitchen, making a huge stack of sandwiches, so avoid that disaster area. We're all gonna heading down to the lake soon. Make yourselves at home. Nyota, you're up the stairs and at the end of hallway, Spock, I think Jim's around here somewhere."

"My goodness, Nyota, how much alcohol did you get?"

"You're going to love me, Chris. They had the microbrew you love—"

"You're kidding."

"Nope. It's in the other box, but come on, where's our room?"

"Mr. Spock! _Kak dela_?" Chekov appeared, dumping some datapads on the table.

"No, Pash," Sulu grabbed for the pads. "No work. I thought I told you leave that behind."

"I am catching up on reading when we are on lake beach."

"You were supposed to leave anything related to work on the ship."

"This is not relating to my work on ship. It is fun reading. I am being too busy and cannot relax with nice periodical on lastest theories in quantum physics."

"Hey, Spock, I was wonderin' where you were. Jim's in outside, I'll go get him."

"Do you know which room we are sharing?"

"Yeah, sure. Just go up the stairs, first door on your right."

"Thank you."

I walked to our room. The relaxed banter filled the house.

"Need any help there, Scotty?"

"I dunno where all my tomatoes have got to. I coulda sworn they were sittin' right there, and now it's like they've grown legs and walked across the moon."

"For the billionth time, they're in the fridge!" Christine yells from somewhere.

"Ah, that's where the little buggers went hidin' to."

I kept the door open as I put my bag down. There was nothing to unpack. The only objects I brought were a change of clothes and toiletries.

"Scotty, you're using _all_ the tomatoes? I need those for dinner tonight!"

"Oh. Sorry there, Jim."

"Whatever, I'll improvise with what's left, I guess."

"Guys, Chris and I are headin' out down to the lake."

Jim gives a low whistle. "Lookin' good, ladies."

"Shut up Jim, before your boyfriend hears you flirting with his best friend," Nyota's voice was full of exasperation and warm fondness.

"Hey, no harm in looking."

"Damn, Yota, Chris, I think you guys give compelling arguments that all Starfleet uniforms should be modeled after swimwear."

"We'll see you boys at the lake."

"Jim, I was lookin' all over for you. Spock's upstairs."

"He is?"

"Yup."

The sound of Jim bounding up the stairs. I stood at the window, looking out at the view of the lake. There was a path leading down to the water's edge and a very small beach and a wooden dock. The house was built within a forest on a mountainside. The view was somewhat obscured by the planet's trees, but overall, the dark blue water of the freshwater lake was before me, along with a partial view of the mountains surrounding it.

Jim came up next to me.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"You want to head down? Nyota and Christine are already there, probably tanning or something."

"Jim! Spock! We're all going down to the lake! There's some towels in the closet if you need them!" Leonard hollered.

"Got it!" Jim shouted back. "Come on, let's go."

--

Jim stripped off his shirt. He threw it to the side and unfolded a large towel and set it down on the sand. Nyota and Christine were in the water. Chekov was in his swimwear, wearing sunglasses and reading a pad. His skin was amazingly pale. Sulu was heading into the water. Leonard stood at end of the dock.

"Jump!" Christine and Nyota called to him. "The water's deep enough."

He grinned, backed walked back to end of the dock, then sprinted and launched himself off the dock. Nyota and Christine were laughing as he emerged, took a breath, and shook his head of the excess water. Scotty was rubbing suntan lotion into himself, paying special attention to his shoulders and nose.

I went to the water and dipped my feet, testing the temperature. It was cold, but bearable. I went back to where Jim stood. He was also rubbing the suntan lotion into himself. As I began to strip down, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jim become still. He was staring. Without looking back at him, I walked to the dock. Due to the murkiness of the water, I could not adequately determine the depth. Nonetheless, I stood at the edge, then neatly dove into the water.

I swam to where Nyota, Christine, Sulu and Leonard were all gathered. They were splashing each other and generally laughing.

"Spock, I did't know you could swim," Sulu remarked.

"I learned while at Starfleet. When I first learned of the sport, swimming was a strange concept, considering that Vulcan is a desert planet."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. That's was a cool dive you did there."

Nyota suddenly splashed me with water. She laughed, then dove into the water and swam away.

I dove after her. I tried using my inner eyelid to see underwater, but it did not help. We chased each other until I finally caught her and literally picked her up and launched her over the water, half shrieking and half laughing. When she did not surface after an interval, I began to worry. Then, out of nowhere a hand grabbed me and held me underwater. When I finally broke free and gasped for air, Nyota was laughing.

Scotty and Jim joined us.

"Pasha! Come in the water, you're the only lame one who's reading datapads!"

Pavel reluctantly put down his datapad, took off his sunglasses and came into the water. Once he reached us in the lake, Christine grinned.

"Let's play Marco Polo."

--

After several round of Marco Polo—I successfully avoided being 'it'—we also held several races. It was determined that I held an unfair advantage due to my strength, so I was designated the judge. Jim and Sulu, being highly competitive, won the most rounds. The first time Jim won, he suggested that I should award him a prize in the form of a kiss, but I refused.

"Then I should award prizes to every winner, captain. I do not believe that the prize of a kiss would be welcome to others."

"They can decline their prizes."

"No."

Soon, the novelty of being in the lake wore off, and most were exhausted. A lunch break was called. Scotty distributed his sandwiches, bottles of beers were opened, and everyone relaxed in the sand. When lunch was consumed, Sulu, Chekov, and Christine lay down to nap. Nyota, Leonard, and Scotty fell into an intense conversation concerning, of all things, the latest viral video on the nets.

"It doesn't make any sense," Scotty argued. "The lyrics are repetitive, replicated on the worst synthesizer I've ever heard, and don't get me started on the video."

"I'll say it's strange, but definitely very catchy," Leonard shrugged and took a sip of his beer.

"No no, you guys don't get it at all. The aesthetic of the video brings everthing together, the way that the dances are coordinated, with the most amazing fashion I've seen in a long time—"

"Fashion? Yeh call that fashion? Nobody in their right _mind_ would wear that on the street."

"Scotty, high fashion isn't about the mundane clothes you wear on the street. It's an art in its own class."

"I'm sayin' what's the point of makin' clothes that no one can wear? It's not practical."

"Might not be practical, but it's somethin' we can appreciate," Leonard pointed out. "My ex-wife had a keen eye for what looked good on her."

Jim stretched out beside me, his head pillowed by his forearm. I looked down at him. He had a lazy smile on his face.

"Best shore leave I've ever had."

--

I returned to the water. Scotty and Pavel were setting about to build a large structure in the sand. Christine and Nyota were, by all appearances, gossiping. Leonard was sprawled out and snoring on a beach towel. Jim and Sulu were also, by appearances, gossiping, in the manner of Terran males. Jim periodically looked out at me.

I stared at the mountains surrounding the lake. They were particularly high, but they were forested. Lakeside properties dotted the area. At another part of the lake, I could see a public beach, crowded with all manner of aliens and tourists. Then I looked back on our small haven, framed by tree branches and translucent green leaves. Drifting aimlessly in the water, I marveled at sense of serenity that stole over me. One, two years ago, I would never have considered this a productive use of my time. Now, I realize that leisure has its own constructive purpose and real benefits.

A distant splash. Jim dove into the water and began to swim towards me. When he finally reached me, he wrapped the foot of his right leg around my left ankle.

We both found out that it is something of a difficult business to kiss while treading water.

--

"We're heading in to take showers," Christine said, shaking the sand out of her towel.

"I am needing to escape the sun," Pavel delicately touched his shoulders.

"Wow, you are burned all over," Nyota commented, eyebrows raised.

"I've got somethin' for that."

"It is not being hypo, is it?" he winced.

"Nope."

"Wow Bones, you have remedies that _don't_ involved jabbing needles to people ten thousand times?"

"Har har. You'll be burnt like the Russian here by the third day, Jim. Then complain about my remedies."

"I think I might need some of that too, doctor, if yeh don't mind."

"Damnit. I think I didn't pack enough."

"Honestly, you don't need anything special. It looks like we'll have to go to the local store and see if they have aloe vera lotion," Christine shook her head.

--

Jim is setting about to modify his original recipe, I am chopping vegetables. The repetitive motion, the vegetables piling up, are all satisfying. Periodically someone enters the kitchen, inquiring after dinner, whether they can help. Jim sends them away. The house is full of quiet conversation. Some are outside, simply talking. Every so often, Jim kisses my neck. Every so often, I return the gesture. Something inside me sighs with deep contentment, even as another side protests that I am digging a deep pit for myself.

--

Everyone at the table was laughing as Scotty related an anecdote of his Academy days.

"I tell yeh, these cadets come up with the strangest answers. While I was workin' on all that transporter research, I was a professor's assistant, helping grade piles on piles of physics homework and all that drugdergy. Never doing that again. They paid me scraps.

"Anyway, I was conductin' a discussion section one day, goin' over the very basics, nuts and bolts of physics, even had a little demo set up. I think we were discussin' electrostatic charges. Well, I had a little charged ball hanging from a line on the ceiling. Students are comin' in, takin' a seat, starin' at my contraptions. One of them's curious, and puts his hand out to grab it, and he jumps back when the charged ball swings towards him.

"I think that's what some professors call a 'teachable moment.' Anyway, I seized on it, sayin', "Look at that, it's moving right towards yeh. What do yeh make of that?'

"'Because it's attracted to me?' I mean, yeah, it's obvious that the thing's attracted to him, but I was lookin' for a more technical answer. So I press a bit more askin' him _why_ it's attracted to him," Scotty took a sip of his drink. "I have teh wonder where the poor fella is now, because he answers, '...because I'm beautiful?'"

--

Nighttime. The house glows with orange and yellow light. Leonard has volunteered to wash the dishes while Pavel dries, and Sulu chats with them. Christine has left to make a late night run to the local convenience store to buy some missing supplies, Scotty accompanied her to find a vid store. There is an old screen and projector—Nyota suggested that we all watch a movie. She and I set it up with little difficulty. I look around the house, searching for Jim. He is nowhere to be found. Then, from our bedroom window, I see a figure of a man, silhouetted in the darkness. He is standing on the dock.

The air outside is cold. As I make my way down the path to the lake, lights are visible in the mountainside, from other houses. The water glitters with the light of the stars above, a field reflecting the dark of space and the constellations above. I briefly study the arrangement, trying to orient myself. I abandon that task as I approach Jim.

"Captain?"

He turns around slightly, then motions for me to join him at his side.

"Jim, is anything the matter?"

"No," he shakes his head. "I just needed some time alone."

The sound of water quietly washing up on the shore, in and out, in and out in small waves.

"I never thought I'd ever have this, you know? This—family."

Sounds from the house, a mild commotion. Scotty and Christine have returned.

I kiss him—how many times have I done this now? How is it possible that every kiss feels like a revelation? Why do I burn inside in moments such as these, when there is nothing said yet everything is spoken? I am terrified of this thing growing inside me, this thing that continues to make its presence known. I push aside that awareness, douse the fire until it is reduced to glowing embers. Then link my arm in his and lead us away from the dark waters back to the house. He follows.


	122. Ch 122

"What're you wearing for your date tonight?"

Nyota and I are taking a walk around the lake after breakfast.

"I did not pack anything particular. What I am wearing right at this moment will have to suffice."

As soon as I said those words, I regretted it. Nyota was looking at me up and down. The expression on her face was one I had seen before.

"We need to go shopping."

--

"What do you think, Chris?"

"I don't like it as much as the grey blazer."

"But I feel like it's too much grey. I mean, with that dress shirt?"

"We could always go with the all black look. He pulls off the 'dark and sexy' look very well."

"Chris, it's a date, not a funeral. Do you know what Jim's going to wear?"

"Oh, I have the _perfect_ idea. You'll absolutely love it."

I could not care less what they chose, so long as this interminable shopping trip ended before the vacation was completely spent.

--

Christine and Nyota walk into the house, carrying several bags. I follow behind them.

"How was the shopping?" Leonard counts the bags.

"Great!"

"Okay, we need your opinion. We got Spock two outfits, and we want to know which is better for a first date."

"There's one that's more formal and darker, with this," Christine pulled out a dark grey blazer "and we got dress pants—the cut of this jacket is to die for, don't you think?"

Leonard took the piece of clothing out of Christine's hands and held it up.

"Or, we thought maybe this date is going to be more casual, in which case we have another outfit that's appropriate for that. Do you know what Jim's wearing?"

"You ladies are ten times more excited about this date that both Jim and Spock combined," he laughed. "Spock looks like he'd like to go lose himself in a healing trance."

"It was a trying ordeal, doctor."

"Well, at least something good came of it. This is quite a jacket," he gave it back to me. "I think it's too formal for what Jim has in mind, though. Better go with the casual."

Nyota and Christine gave a collective squeal and excitedly dug through the bags once more.

"Ndugu, don't give me that look. You're the one who told me I should always have contingency plans."

--

"I am thinking," Pavel stared at his datapad. "I am thinking that when we get back to the ship, I will be modifying nawigator controls based on new theories they are discussing here."

"Is that a project you would like to embark upon?"

"I am not knowing much about advanced circuitry and computer science. And I am guessing that we must be planning modifications and installing wery quickly."

"I am currently working on a project with Dr. McCoy, however, I believe I will have time in my schedule to assist you in your endeavor."

"Are you breaking the 'no talking about work or physics' rule again?" Sulu said as he passed us.

"What you are hafing against physics?"

"Me, Jim, and Christine are going water skiing. Want to come?"

I declined. Chekov was curious and agreed to join them.

--

"Come back before midnight. Sulu's decided to build a big bonfire and we're all going to sit around and be campy," Nyota adjusted my collar. "Have fun."

I embraced her. "I did not mean to act ungratefully towards everything you have done, ndugu."

"I know," she smiled. "That's what brothers do. Now, let me have one last look at you."

She waved her hand and I turned for her.

"Jim's going to love you."

We exited Nyota's room. At the same time, Jim and Leonard exited our room. I looked at Jim, Jim looked at me, his eyes taking me in. Before descending down the stairs, we shared a brief kiss.

"Come on, you two, or you'll be late for your reservation," Leonard said.

--

The restaurant is small, private. The menu indicates that all entrees are vegan, cooked with the local produce of the planet. We are seated, the host brings water and a plate of fruit, as is the custom in this part of Placer.

"I don't think I've done this in ages," Jim looks around the restaurant. "You know, go on a date."

"I also have not been on such an outing since the beginning of our five year mission."

"Really? I thought you and Nyota were still a couple then."

"I terminated our romantic relationship early on."

Jim did not ask me why. Instead, he took a sip of water and changed the subject.

"Think you could ever get used to a life like this? On a planet, doing," he paused. "I have no idea what people do planetside."

"Placer's economy relies heavily on its tourist industry. Many of the residents on this planet are employed in the hospitality sector. A surprising number are also in real estate development, building lake houses such as the one we are renting."

"So no, you can't imagine ever living someplace like this."

"It is an ideal location to visit for short periods of time. I do not believe that I could live at such a slow and leisurely pace constantly."

"Same. I was already getting kinda bored, just sitting around and looking out at the lake. What do you want to eat?"

We looked at the available menu and inputted our choices into the table computer. Shortly after we made our selection, a waiter set the food down at our table.

"I've been meaning to ask—this separation between our public and private lives—does that mean you're going to stop taking meals with me in the mess hall?"

"Negative. The distinction applies to this new dimension in our relations. I have been taking my meals with you for some time, and ceasing in that behavior would only draw more attention to us."

"So you want us to act like we're just friends when we're on the bridge, and in my quarters, or your quarters, we can do whatever we want."

"Affirmative."

"Spock, the whole point of this 'new dimension' is that we're not friends anymore. We're more than friends."

"Be that as it may captain, it is necessary to maintain a facade."

"Why?"

"We have been over this before, Jim."

"I still don't buy your reasoning. And also, even if you can compartmentalize your life, I can't, not really. I'm always on duty, Spock. This line you're drawing between public and private is nonexistent for me. I just act the way I feel like acting, and I can't help the way I act around you."

"You are not on duty when we are playing chess."

"I'm technically not on duty when we're eating lunch, too. I think you just don't want people to see us."

"The desire for privacy is not uncommon among Terrans, Jim."

"But why does it matter? Everyone already knows and they don't care. So what if I kiss you in the transporter room?"

"It is not conducive for the work environment for the two commanders of the ship to be visibly engaged in such activities. We must consider the psychological components that contribute to the tone of the ship."

"Spock, I'm not going to make out with you on the bridge—I'm not unprofessional. All I'm saying is that we don't have to hide this or be paranoid, which is what you're doing."

It was clear that Jim and I were at an impasse with regards to this matter.

"Captain, may we postpone our discussion of this until a later time? I do not wish our dinner to end in a debate, especially as we are on shore leave."

"Yeah, sure."

--

Jim did not desire to return to the lakehouse immediately. Near the public part of the beach, there was a line of souvenir stores and restaurants, as well as a wood planked walk along the lake. Jim and I decided to spend some time there before returned. As it turned out, there was a fireworks show. It was not organized or coordinated in any way, but the chaotic shower of colors was captivating. Green and gold, blue and red, blinding white sparks lit up the dark sky. Jim and I sat on a bench apart from the main crowd. His arm rested on the back of the bench and occasionally his hand touched my upper arm.

In the middle of the fireworks, Jim kissed me on my temple. I turned my head to look at him. Even in the darkness, his blue eyes were lit with an intense fire.

--

"Hey guys!"

The crew were seated around a fire. Jim and I took our seats next to each other. Someone handed Jim a beer. Nyota gave me a glass of Vulcan port.

"How'd it go?"

"Good," Jim answered. "We saw a fireworks show."

I took a sip of the port. It was of decent quality, though I was far from being a connoisseur.

"Oh, we watched that too, though the view was a little obscured."

"How was your evening?" I asked.

"A goddamn disaster."

"It was being an accident, how am I knowing that it will catch on fire?"

"Lad, that's the first time I've ever seen someone fail that hard at boilin' water."

"Pasha tried to help out in the kitchen. We ended up ordering food in."

"And I was goin' to make some cajun food."

"Er, maybe it was better that you didn't get to cook, Bones."

"Hey, you had no objections to my cookin' last time."

"Uhm..."

"It is apparent that he did, Leonard."

Several laughed.

"Oh, here's something I've always wanted to do," Christine smiled. "Let's tell ghost stories."

"I don't think I know any good ghost stories."

"I am hafing one, I am hafing one!"

"You? I thought the only thing you knew were physics equations."

"That is not all I am knowing. I might be needing a little help with the Standard words, but that is okay."

--

Jim is asleep. I am meditating.

Tonight—brilliant moments like the flash of a comet, of minds gathered in soft darkness, intimate and whispering when suddenly, flint is struck and sparks like fireworks into the kindling. The fire, a blaze of light penetrates the borders of our bodies and all is life and the orange glow of plasma. All too soon the fire is now a pile of glowing embers and we are again reaching darkness. Somehow emboldened, somehow closer to each other, voices are louder and the scent of burnt wood hangs in the air.


	123. Ch 123

_Пусть бегут неуклюже  
Пешеходы по лужам,  
А вода - по асфальту рекой.  
И неясно прохожим  
В этот день непогожий,  
Почему я веселый такой._

"Okay guys, Christine and I found the Russian birthday song. It's kind of long, but I think it'd be great if we could sing it in Russian."

"We're gonna butcher it."

"I butcher Russian all the time, but Pasha doesn't seem to mind."

"Does anyone have a recordin' of this before we start yowlin' our little hearts out like Russian cats?"

"I've got a video here."

"Is that a crocodile? With an accordian?"

"Yes."

"What is that guy just doing there, standing in front of the crocodile?"

"I have no idea."

"These Russians. Why's their birthday song so goddamn depressin'?"

"We should probably ask Pavel about that."

"Nyota, do you know what any of it means?"

"Uhm, it's kind of hard to explain."

"At least give us an idea of what he's saying?"

"Okay, this is a really bad translation, but it's something along the lines of 'let the pedestrians run clumsily through the puddles, the water on the asphalt is a river. They don't know why I'm so happy on such a rainy day. I'm playing on the concertina in front of all the passerbys. But unfortunately, birthdays only come once a year.'

"Then the second verse is 'suddenly a magician will fly here in a light blue helicopter and show a movie for free. He'll wish me happy birthday and probably leave me a present of five hundred Eskimos.' Eskimos as in ice cream, not the Inuit people. And then the chorus again, 'I'm playing on the concertina in front all the passerbys. But unfortunately, birthdays only come once a year.'"

"That made no sense."

"A light blue helicopter? Why a _light_ blue helicopter? Why a helicopter at all?"

"I think I need to drag the boy into the Sickbay for a psych eval."

"Let's just sing it, okay?"

_Я играю на гармошке  
У прохожих на виду...  
К сожаленью, день рождения  
Только раз в году._

"_Rebyata_, that was terrible. _Absolutno uzhas_. I am hoping you are never singing in Russian again."

"Well, we tried. Happy birthday, Pavel."

"Blow the candles out before the whole cake is covered in wax, Pash. And make a wish."

Pavel paused, took a deep breath, then attempted to blow all nineteen candles out with one huge breath. He failed. Two candles stubbornly remained lit.

Everyone applauded when all the candles were extinguished. Scotty immediately moved to begin cutting the cake.

"I can be doing that, Scotty," Pavel offered.

"On your birthday? And knowin' what yeh did ta that stove? You're lucky if I let yeh near my transporter again, lad."

_Прилетит вдруг волшебник  
В голубом вертолете  
И бесплатно покажет кино,  
С днем рождения поздравит  
И, наверно, оставит  
Мне в подарок пятьсот "эскимо"._

"How's it feel, being nineteen?"

"It is feeling the same as being eighteen."

"Nyota! Let's break open a bottle o'that vodka you got and drink ta his health!"

"Hold on, I'm getting the shot glasses out. Who's drinking? Sulu, can you get the vodka from the fridge?"

"Sure, no problem."

"Pavel, do you like caviar?"

"You haf _ikra_?"

"And black bread, wouldn't ya know."

"We tried to give you a taste of home, since you know. It's your birthday."

"Are you sure you want to start drinking before you open gifts?"

"We can do that at the same time, Chris. Right?"

"Spock, are you drinking?"

"No, thank you Nyota."

"Just one shot. It's not like alcohol affects you the same way. And it's his birthday."

_Я играю на гармошке  
У прохожих на виду...  
К сожаленью, день рождения  
Только раз в году._

I stared out the window to the dark lake. Jim came and stood next to me.

"I can't believe tomorrow's the last day. It feels like we've been here a week."

Our shoulders were almost touching.

"It'll be good to get back on the ship, though. Get back into the swing of things. This was definitely a good idea."

I looked at him.

"Yeah, I know you set it up and cornered Nogura into giving us a break. I'm the captain, Spock. I know what goes down on my ship."

"I did not think that you would refuse had the admiral assigned us another mission."

"I probably wouldn't have." He kissed me. "So thanks."

His kisses drew my focus away from the window to his mouth. Jim still tasted slightly of alcohol. The tension that had run through his body for the past mission was gone, replaced by an easy relaxation. He breathed, the sound speaking of deep satisfaction.

For a split second, irrational thoughts filled my mind and I did not want to leave this idyllic place. I wanted to stay in this haven, surrounded by our friends. I longed for this moment to stretch into infinity, the two of us standing and kissing. I did not want to face the scrutiny of the other crewmembers, I did not want to think about our standing conflict between our responsibilities as commanders and our relationship. Most of all, I did not want to dwell on this every deepening fire inside me. Would it explode, would it consume me? It terrifies me, even as it responds to Jim, his looks and touch and kisses.

I pushed all of that aside, suppressing it. Time passes.

Tomorrow, we will be back on the _Enterprise_.

_К сожаленью, день рождения  
Только раз в году._


	124. Ch 124

Reality gives a rude awakening.

--

"Yeoman, want to tell me why you didn't show up for duty during your shift?"

The yeoman stood, silent and radiating defiance. Jim opened his mouth to speak, when the yeoman cut him off.

"I don't serve under fags."

Jim froze. His captain's mask slid into place and anger burned behind his eyes.

"That's 'I don't serve under fags, _captain_,'" he said, menace in his voice. "Yeoman Herrera."

"Yes sir?"

"Prepare the transfer papers for the yeoman here, to be effective immediately."

"Aye, sir."

"Also make note of this incident in his file, with a recommendation that he be discharged from Starfleet."

"Noted, sir. Do you need anything else, captain?"

"No. Security, get him out of my sight."

--

Neither Jim nor I have done anything to indicate that we are in a relationship. But somehow, they know. Jim has not acted in any way that is unusual for him. I have maintained my neutral behavior. Still, they know. They are not a telepathic species.

They sneer.

"Our government does not acknowledge your kind. Your mixed species relationship is an abomination to all purity and everything that is sacred in this universe. He," the speaker points to me "should never have been born. We will have no dealings with you."

Jim stepped forward suddenly like a stalking jaguar. The aliens stepped back in alarm.

I pulled Jim back. "You cannot change them."

"We—_you_—don't have to take this. We don't have to listen to this shit," he said harshly.

"Jim, nothing you say or do will change their minds. That is the nature of bigotry. Unless they themselves come to a realization, they will never change. You cannot make them accept us."

He stared at them, his own hatred and rage directed at them. This twisted ugliness howling inside him, mirroring the hatred the aliens have for us, is not Jim. I will not let it affect him.

"Captain," I said softly. Return to me.

He looked at me, and his expression transformed into one of hurt and confusion. That quickly disappeared as he hid his emotions and his face hardened.

"I will return to the ship and send Nyota down." I wanted to kiss him, to offer some comfort, but we were still on duty.

He nodded.

"Transporter room."

"Yes commander?"

"One to beam up."

--

"But isn't homosexuality illogical? Nature never meant for two men or two women to be together because no offspring are produced," one of the scientists in my department argued.

"I was not aware that the sole purpose of relationships among sentient species was simply to propagate mindlessly."

"Not the sole purpose, but it is how relationships developed evolutionarily. Children have to have a female mother and male father in order to grow to be stable adults. A family of two males or two females cannot meet the needs of a young child. Relationships are for the purpose of creating families, and families have to provide a safe environment for children."

"Several scientific studies have refuted your argument. I am able to provide you a list of citations, if you so desire. Furthermore, your argument suggests that we should dictate our lives and actions by evolutionary history."

"Homosexuals were never meant to exist. If they did, the species would go extinct. It's a societal construct, and it goes to show how far removed we are from what was meant to be."

"What was meant to be—you believe that evolution is going towards some ideal species."

"Just think of the genes that you and the captain are wasting. They'll never be passed down to a child, and that absences will weaken the gene pool."

"Then individuals are only valuable in so far as they are containers for genetic diversity."

"You keep twisting my words, commander."

"I have not changed the content of your argument, I have merely restated your position."

--

"Why do you just take it? Why don't you fight back?"

"I choose my battles, Jim. One learns quickly that one cannot respond to every insult and slight. I am sorry that our relationship has caused you to experience directly the senselessness of intolerance."

"Don't apologize. Don't ever apologize for what we have."

"I am not apologizing. I only," memories of my childhood rose. I suppressed those feelings. "I never wanted you know what it felt like, to be rejected based solely on the fact of who you are."

"I get what you were saying before, about having to divide our private and public lives."

"It is necessary. Though the majority of the crew aboard seem to be generally supportive."

"Yeah," Jim paused. He looked away. "I just wish we didn't have to hide anything. We've got nothing to be ashamed of."

"In an ideal world, intelligent beings would be able to accept one another for who they are, without malice. Our world is, however, far from ideal."

"Why can't people just let us be who we are? Why can't they let us be free?"


	125. Ch 125

"Kirk, what's this I've been hearing all over the nets about you being gay."

"I wasn't aware that my sexual orientation had any relevance to my ability to command, admiral."

"So it's true?"

"Would you mind starting at the beginning and telling me exactly that this is about?"

"There's rumors everywhere that you and your First Officer are in a relationship."

"And do you believe those rumors, sir?" Jim asked, voice neutral.

"Do you understand what this means? There has never been a gay captain in the history of Starfleet."

"Admiral, I identified myself as bisexual when I first registered for Starfleet, and there was no problem. I personally know many gays, lesbians, transsexuals, and bisexuals who serve on starships. Starfleet accepts Deltans and Orions, so I don't see what the problem is."

"None of them are captains, and none of them are on the fast track for the admiralcy."

"Are you implying that homosexuals are somehow incapable of being commanders and accomplishing as much as heterosexuals? Or maybe you're suggesting that every single one of my decisions is compromised, because obviously they must be related to the fact that I'm attracted to men."

"I don't want to know about it, Kirk. Whatever you do in your private life is your own business. But if this ever gets out—if the rumors ever become confirmed, you're on your own. Because I can guarantee you that if this gets out, there will be a media storm."

"'I'm on my own?' Clarify what that means, admiral."

"It means, we won't fire you, but we won't make any statements on your behalf. Starfleet's a scientific and military operation, not a gay rights proponent."

--

"There's a glass ceiling?"

"Yeah, seems so, Jim."

"Since when the fuck was that there?"

"Every institution is like that Jim. Homosexuals have equal rights, theoretically. All the laws and statutes are there to make sure that no one is discriminated against for their sexual orientation. But in practice, it's a different story."

"So you're telling me that if Spock and I were in a relationship two years ago and Starfleet knew about it, I would never get captaincy?"

"I can't tell you that for certain Jim, I don't know how Starfleet bureaucracy works. A glass ceiling doesn't always mean that you can't go the highest that's possible, but you have to prove yourself far above and beyond what they would require of you if you were just straight.

"And even after you proved yourself, they'd probably constantly be on you, scrutinizing your every action and just waiting for you to make one mistake, any excuse to bring you down."

"It doesn't fucking make any sense. What the fuck does me being gay have anything to do with my ability to command a fucking starship?"

"It doesn't, Jim."

"Then why the fuck?"

"Jim, homosexuals aren't the only people who get trapped under this glass ceiling. How many female captains and admirals do you see in Starfleet? Women got the right to vote at the beginnin' of the 20th century, everyone considered them to have equal rights by the 21st century, but there's still disparities. Legally, everyone's equal. In practice, that's never true, and you can always see the inequality in politics and in the military. How many Fed Council seats are held by females? How many presidents have we had that are women? There's still a lot of stereotypes and cultural holdovers about what women should and shouldn't do.

"The fact is Jim, there's two kind of equality. There's your common, everday equality that says so-and-so has the right to get a job, buy a house, start a family, do everything that your average citizen is allowed to do. Then there's the equality of power, and that's a whole different ball game.

"Now, gettin' regular equality is hard in and of itself. But in some ways, it's easier than getting equality of power, because there, you have to fight against something more pervasive, insidious, and hidden. Equality of power takes a takes a hell of a lot longer to achieve. That's when you face the really subtle things, like institutionalized discrimination, cultural stereotypes, these glass ceilings, and the plain and simple fact that a lot of people, for God knows what reason, are uncomfortable with the notion of a homosexual being captain. You end up showin' people really ugly facts about themselves, because you're essentially saying that even though a law's been passed, where power is concerned they're still holdin' onto the status quo.

"I can give you tons of examples. For women, if you have a female captain who's a taskmaster, what do people think of her? You've thought it before, I heard you complainin' about one of your Starfleet profs back at the Academy, talkin' about 'how she's such a bitch.' You didn't respect her for what she accomplished, but resented her for being in power like that. A lot of women face that—doesn't matter if the people under her are male or female. You have a man in the same position ordering the same things, they'll admire him for his competence and ambition.

"So yeah, the average Cadet Smith, who happens to be gay, is allowed to enroll in Starfleet and serve. But if he, or she, or whoever, wants to climb the ranks, they have to overcome a mountain of stereotypes and hidden prejudices that are built into the system itself. Hell, these things might even be subconscious. I mean, you think of a gay person and automatically, what do you associate with that? Do you think 'captain of a starship'?"

Jim had no response to Leonard's question.

"Equality of power is when you can imagine the captain of a starship bein' anyone, regardless of specie, race, gender, age, sexual orientation, and whatever else you might use to discriminate against someone. And we've got a long way to go before we get there, even in the 23rd century."

"One would have liked to think that intelligence should prevent such irrational prejudices."

"Intelligence has always been a double edged sword, Spock. It can be used to create and discover amazing, beautiful truths. But it's also been used to justify all this discrimination and demean others. And sometimes intelligence, more than ignorance, is the thing that generates the worst hatreds."


	126. Ch 126

"Spock," Jim called as he walked quickly down the corridor.

I paused and waited for him.

"Where're you going?"

"My quarters, captain."

"Cool. Up for a game of chess?"

Jim resumed walking, heading in the direction of my quarters. I followed him.

"Chess would be acceptable."

"I almost forgot. Before we do that, we have to review the files for the replacements. Do you remember Nurse Fong?"

"He was admitted to a medical facility on Starbase 8 after his evaluations revealed he experienced and had not recovered from severe personal trauma."

"Yeah, him. He finished his treatment and wants to come back. I talked to Bones about it and he'd be happy to take him back, but I wanted to know your opinion too."

"I have not yet reviewed those files."

We arrived at my quarters. Jim waited as I keyed in my security code. He continued talking.

"It's a quick read. There's a few more replacements coming in—a seventeen year old, can you believe it? She's an engineer, but I'm more wary about that one. I think it was kind of insane that Chekov started when he did, but I guess people would say the same about me."

The bulkheads opened. Jim entered the room and I followed. Something inside me tensed. I stood at the door, watching him as he sat down in a chair and began to look around the room. He made no comment on the various objects in place.

"Scotty's wary about taking her on, but then again, Scotty's always suspicious of anyone who tries to mess with the warp cores. I think it'd be cool to have another prodigy on board."

This is the first time Jim has been in my quarters.

"Spock?"

I moved from my position at the door, walking forward and setting the datapads on my desk. I turned on my laptop and downloaded files, went about the necessary tasks. Jim stood from his chair and began to take a closer look at the tapestry which was hanging prominently on the wall. I tracked him from the corner of my eye.

Nyota is the only other person who has spent time in this, my personal space.

"How did they make this? I didn't get to take a good look at it, but fractal is represented really well. You can almost see it continue infinitely."

"I am uncertain as to its construction."

"How old is it?"

"I cannot place the date. It has been well preserved."

I quickly finished my tasks and went to the door. Jim continued to stare at the tapestry.

"Captain."

He turned to me. "Why don't we play chess here? I can go get the set right now."

I stiffened. "Is that your preference?"

"No, I don't really care. We never play in your room is all."

"It is no trouble for me to accompany you to your quarters."

Jim shrugged and walked towards me. "Okay, fine. My place then."

He walked out and I followed quickly. Back in the corridor, some of the tension within uncoiled as the bulkheads closed behind me.

I glanced at Jim. Nothing about his bearing or expression had changed. I relaxed more, relieved he had not noticed my behavior.

He is my captain and a friend. It is necessary, however, to delineate borders.

--

The second time the captain is in my quarters. I told him I would meet him after I retrieved my laptop, but he insisted on accompanying me. I quickly entered the room, got the laptop, then hurried back to the door.

Jim looks about the room, as if he were studying its arrangement. He bending down to examine some Vulcan artifacts closely, though he does not touch them. He does, however, brush his fingers along the leaves of one of my plants.

I am standing by the door. Jim is in my room.

There is no reason for me to attach significance to this moment or this space. It is his prerogative as my captain to enter my quarters. It is inappropriate to label this area as 'mine' as it is part of the starship _Enterprise_ and therefore has never belonged to me. I do not have a particular right to it. The objects which he is inspecting could be found in a museum dedicated to Vulcan art and history.

"It suits you," he says. "This room, it's like I can see part of you reflected in it."

I am standing by the door.

He walks to me and kisses me softly, in my room. His eyes are blue and his face open.

Something inside me lights on fire and for an instant, I am reaching out with my right hand to take his hand in mine. Then something inside me clamps down on that impulse. I kiss him on the lips and retract my arm, hands firmly clenched into fists. I break the kiss and without a second glance at Jim, I walk out the doors and attempt to control my breathing and ignore the slight trembling of my hands.

Jim follows out. We walk to his quarters where we kiss some more, and I keep my hands occupied by running them over every part of his back and torso. My fingers under his shirt, on his cool body leave him breathless. I concentrate on the sensation of his muscles and bones, suppressing the thought of our fingers threaded together, hands palm to palm in a Vulcan kiss.


	127. Ch 127

"You spend a lot more time in Jim's quarters than he does in yours," Dr. McCoy said casually as we set down to work in the laboratory.

"The captain often calls me to his quarters to attend to some matter of duty."

Leonard looked up from his work. "The way he tells it, it's more than just duty."

I froze, then straightened.

"If you would clarify your meaning, doctor."

"You play chess, talk, that sort of thing."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Good God man, I didn't mean it that way. Jim doesn't kiss and tell—not about you anyway—and I wouldn't be willing to listen ta that in any case. Whatever the hell you two do is your own business. I don't wanna know."

"Was there a particular reason why you commented on the frequency of the captain's visits to my quarters?"

"Just seemed like an unequal distribution is all. Which reminds me, are we expecting a Gaussian distribution on this? That makes the most sense to me, but computer models you programmed give us nothing close to that. Makes me kinda wonder if that's the data we'll get when we actually test the damn thing."

"I was also perplexed by the results we obtained on the simulation. However, that only emphasizes the deficiency of our own knowledge in this field."

"Aint that the truth."

I was about to change the subject when Leonard continued.

"And since we're on the topic of expectations, what are yours. With respect to Jim and this thing you've got goin' with him."

"It is a private matter."

"You guys haven't talked about it?"

"I do not see how this relates to our project or concerns you in any way, doctor."

"It concerns me for a whole bunch of reasons, Spock. You and Jim're my two closest friends and I don't wanna see this end in heartbreak for either of you, and I'm the CMO of this ship and it falls on me to decide whether either of you are emotionally compromised because of this."

"Be that as it may, I do not wish to discuss this at the moment."

"I can't believe I'm doing this, giving relationship advice to a goddamn Vulcan—"

"Then do not proceed to do so."

"Spock, if your expectations and Jim's don't match up, and one of you's putting more into the relationship than the other, then it's gonna get ugly real fast. You guys have got to talk and find some kind of middle ground."

"There is no indication that the captain's expectations and mine are not equal."

"Damnit man, it's like the two of you are lookin' at this relationship like a math equation and assumin' everythin's fine without botherin' to actually solve anything! I can't even tell if y'all are working with the same _variables_, let alone if the numbers turn out okay."

"Am I to understand that you brought up a discussion concerning the number of times Jim has been in my quarters because you believe it to be some sort of indication as to the possibility of unequal effort and expectations? Your logic is absurd if you believe equality is required in that aspect of this so called 'equation.' By that same rationale, perhaps Jim and I should tally other actions and draw up a table of accounts."

"Don't be deliberately obtuse, Spock. You know what I meant."

"My objections are not borne of an attempt to misconstrue your arguments. They were derived purely from your statements."

"I don't even know why I'm having this argument with you. You should be talking about it with Jim, not me. Both of you, it's like I'm hitting my head against a brick wall. And best part of it is, I don't think either of you knows what the hell you want."

Leonard turned his attention back to the materials before him and shook his head.

"Forget I said anything. Let's get this experiment started."


	128. Ch 128

"How the hell does every single mission turn out like this? It aint natural, the sheer bad luck that follows this ship around."

"You should not have attempted to defend me, Leonard. The townspeople still intend to light this on fire."

"I thought witch burnings went outta style a long time ago."

"Doctor, this is not a joking matter. I believe they will allow you to live, as your services are needed."

"Spock, I'd rather die here and now on this backwater planet than go back to those xenophobes."

"This is not a time for symbolic heroics, Leonard."

"I'm not getting myself lit on fire as a matter of symbolism. I'm standing by you, because there was a time when I was about to die and you stood by me. I'm proud to serve with you, and I'm not ashamed to die with you either. So you're stuck with me."

"I fail to understand how that speech does not qualify as symbolic heroism."

"Damnit Spock! We're being torched and you still have to have the last damn word."

--

"It's official, isn't it? Nogura hates me. Why else have we been given this mission to a planet out in the middle of nowhere?"

"The location of the planet has no bearing on the relative importance of this mission, captain. The colony is in need of medical supplies as the last three shipments were attacked by Orion pirate ships."

"So much for being a neutral system."

"That is precisely the issue at stake here. The Federation claims that the ships are of unknown origin, as they are hesitant to accuse the Orion system of foul play and add another enemy to their long list."

"You're telling me that we were ready to go to war against the Klingons, but we won't call the Orions on their smuggling and shit?"

"There are complicated matters of trade to consider, as well as the fact that Orion Syndicate has formidable resources in their own right. If we are attacked, this will be a difficult mission to maneuver, captain."

"So Starfleet is making me the fall guy again. Fine, I can deal with that. Lt. Uhura, did headquarters send any specific orders about what I'm supposed to do if we happen to get attacked by Orion pirates?"

"The instructions were convoluted, captain. It all depends on whether we decide to hail them or not. If we hail them and they respond, identifying themselves positively as Orions, then we may not fire. If we hail them and they respond but don't claim Orion's neutral status, we may do as we see fit. That situation's extremely unlikely, as these pirates'll use any protection they can get. If we don't hail them, we violate Starfleet protocol but we have deniability and claim we didn't know they were Orions—"

"Even though we have specific reports detailing that Orion ship have been raiding supply lines."

"That's classified information. It's heavily implied that we know it, but we don't technically know anything."

"This is why I hate diplomacy. Go on, lieutenant."

"If they fire on us first, then there's a whole different set of instructions."

"What if we fired and hailed them at the same time?"

"There's nothing about that in the transmission, sir."

"How confident are the weapons crew that they could do some quick, super precise shooting on a few Orion ships? To say, disable their engines. If that hypothetical situation ever came up."

"Weapons crew ratings are currently at 93%, the mean rating between the exercise in target practice you recently devised and the emergency simulation you ran two shifts previous."

"At least I know my options."

"It would be a difficult position to defend legally, captain."

"I'll worry about that later. All of these attacks happened close to the planet?"

"Affirmative."

"Sulu just left his shift. Think I'll need him?"

"Despite the warnings we have received from Starfleet, I do not believe the Orions would attack a Constitution class vessel, captain."

"ETA, Lt. Sigmundsson?"

"We'll be in orbit in thirty minutes, sir."

"Okay. Spock, I want you to go down with Bones and make sure everything goes smoothly. We'll hang out here for as long as he needs to get their medical facilities up to par, then move on."

"Understood. You will not be joining us?"

"I'll beam down for a while, talk to the colony governors, then beam back up. Starfleet's put us in a tricky spot with this Orion business, and I want to be there in case they do show up. This is my responsibility, not something I can leave to Uhura. No offense, lieutenant."

"None taken. And I agree with your assessment."

"Okay. Get Chekov here, I want him at the Science Station when Spock's gone."

--

"Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, Dr. McCoy. It is an honor to meet you at last. We've heard so much about you over the nets," the colony governor bowed deeply.

"Thank you, governor. It's a pleasure to be here," Jim bowed in turn.

The governor smiled, then her expression grew serious again. "If you don't mind, I would like to get right to business. Some of the patients have gone too long without the medication they need, and there was a recent bout of flu that's taken a toll."

"Of course. I'm afraid I can't see to this mission personally, but I've assigned my First to handle it, as well as my CMO. If you have any questions or concerns, please direct to them and they'll help you however they can."

"Thank you very much, captain."

"Only doing my job, governor."

Jim and I shared a brief look before he beamed up. Leonard engaged the governor, a Rigelian and naturalized Federation citizen who called herself the Marschallin, in a discussion of the colony's health problems, immediately delving into vaccination schedules, information on the variant of the flu virus, the condition of the main hospital, and asked questions concerning any local problems.

"One of the problems that we have encountered lies in the diversity of this colony. We are proud of the community we have built here, but the range of alien species makes caring for the sick very difficult. Oftentimes, the doctors improvise remedies based on information they find on the nets and their own experience. I'm sure our hospital director would be grateful for any information you could share. He is a Betazoid, well respected in the medical community. We are very fortunate that he decided to volunteer his services and come to our colony."

"Marschallin—your name sounds familiar. Like I've read it somewhere in a paper. You wouldn't happen to be a doctor yourself, would you?"

"Before I was elected governor of the colony, I was a medical research scientist. I go by Marschallin, but it is only part of my name. Our family has a long history of studying the art of medicine. My older sibling recently was part of a team of Rigelians who discovered a chemical stimulant to speed up the reproduction and replacement blood in several species."

"That's it, I remember now! I haveta tell ya, but that was a brilliant discovery. He—"

"My sibling is actually one of the three genders that you do not have as Terrans."

"Sorry, my mistake. But that was a great discovery. When I get the time, I'd like ta try test it on some of the other species they didn't get around to coverin'. Have they been workin' on remedyin' the side effects?"

"Dr. McCoy, as fascinating as this conversation is, we must initiate beam down of the numerous supplies. The medical teams are ready and standing by."

"Right. Have a few security guys come down too with a few anti-gravs and sleds ta move all this stuff."

"Acknowledged."

I began communicating with the ship. In the back, Leonard continued to chat with the Marschallin. He laughed at some comment.

"That's why Jim keeps Spock around. He keeps us sharp, on task and on our toes."

--

All operations were proceeding smoothly. I checked in periodically with Jim, notifying him of our status. There was no sign of any pirate ships on his end.

"Well that's good news. Looks like a mission might actually go without a hitch this time, Jim."

"Don't jinx it."

"You shoulda stayed a little longer down here. It's amazing, the diversity of this place. I talked to Emanin, the Betazoid hospital director here, and he says that they've had a few specie related conflicts spring up here and there, but most of the time the people get along fine. It's almost like a utopia here. They would've loved ta meet ya."

"That's not exactly what Starfleet's files say about this place. This used to be an exclusively human colony."

"What? Humans can't make up more than seven percent of the population."

"The precise figure is 8.5%."

"Nyota just told me that the surge of other species on the colony was actually pretty recent."

"Well, doesn't take away from what they've managed to do to the place."

"I know. But something doesn't feel right."

"What?"

"It's just a feeling."

"Captain, do you have any other information?"

"No. I'm probably overreacting."

"Jim, you've got downright uncanny intuition when it comes to stuff like this."

"Not really. What's my batting average, Spock?"

"Batting average, captain?"

"It's a phrase. Comes from baseball."

"He's asking how often his intuition's been right, Spock."

"I have not been keeping track."

"Really?"

"Really?"

A pause.

"He's doing the eyebrow thing, isn't he."

"Yup."

"How much longer do you guys think you need to stay down there?"

"A few more hours should do it. Then we'll beam up."

"Okay. I've gotta go, but check back in."

"Yes mom."

"Shut up, Bones. Kirk out."

--

"Commander Spock!"

"Dr. Emanin."

"They've taken him! I don't know how, but they've taken him!"

A rush of the Betazoid's emotion as he panicked briefly, then that sensation cuts out as he reigns in his psionic abilities. The emotion is replaced with flashes of the doctor's thoughts.

-A crowd of masked colonists jeering at night, set fire to a house. A family flees.

-Protests, the remembrance of ugly emotions and hatred bubbling to the surface, disgust against all others and an accusation _alien alien alien_ like a dirty word

-A counterprotest held at daytime, solidarity and sadness of crimes perpetrated. The election of a visionary governor who opens the colony to all species

-The exodus of a body of colonists, the air filled with disgust fear a desire to kill and destroy

-Building the colony and the conflicts that inevitably arise between species. Long nights at the hospital with headaches stemming from hearing the angry thoughts of others constantly mixed in the sound of the ill. Trying to remember why you try and put forth the effort when it's so much easier to start a fight

-Watching children from fifteen alien species play together

-Wake up to the piercing cry of someone's distress. Can't tell if it's a sound or a thought, but it spikes through the colony and the discovery of a body hanging from a tree, absolutely desecrated with the message 'go back to where you came from'

-Fear. Distrust. Fear. Distrust. Anger. Investigation. A party sent out to find the colonists who left the main and disappeared into the hills

-Periodic kidnappings, some bodies returned killed, some never returned at all. The location of the colonists unknown, the ugly reality that underlies this peaceful community

-The mask torn off and the red face of anger twisted gnarled rooted hatred the inundation of emotion like an instinct tasting like bitter fear and the face transforms into the face of Emanin the horror that _what if I'm just like him deep down inside what if I'm just like him_

He abruptly cuts off the thoughts. Dr. Emanin inhales shakily.

_Profound apologies. I did not intend—I will refine my control._

"They're Terran, the xenophobes that attack us. They were a part of the original colony, then left when the Marschillan was elected. She's been attacked and come under threat several times, but she refuses to show any sign of fear. The colonists take a lot of courage in her unwavering devotion to the colony.

"Lately there haven't been any attacks. We think it's because they're ill, come down with the flu, and undoubtedly worse off than us. Now they've snatched themselves a doctor to heal them, but I can't be certain that's what they want. No one knows where they are, how they hide so well and shield themselves against the telepaths of the colony. I don't know what they'll do after they're done with him. Some of the worst killings are against other Terran colonists—"

-Red blood slippery oxidizing turning brown rust oozing broken bones everywhere shattered skull face unrecognizable genitals tortured the stench the smell the horror the red the crime the grief the attempt to reconstruct a face for burial cleaning the corpse to discover

"They'd carve the word 'traitor' into their skin."

"Spock to _Enterprise_, Spock to _Enterprise_. Lock onto Dr. McCoy's signal and beam him up immediately."

"Spock—we've got company. What happened to Bones?"

"He has been kidnapped by a group of xenophobic colonists."

"Shit. Fuck. God, when it rains, it pours."

"Is it not possible to lock on his signal and beam him up, captain?"

"I've got shields up and I can't put them down. I can send you information on his coordinates though. You've got security guys, right? Take them and track him down."

"Understood, captain."

"Spock."

"Yes, Jim?"

There was a pause.

"Captain?"

"Nothing. Nevermind. Just, get the job done and we'll get you back on the ship as soon as we can. Kirk out."

--

The encampment that the xenophobe colonists use is primitive. It is hidden in the mountains, and by all indications the people seem to have adopted a nomadic lifestyle. None of the structures are permanent. I have with me four other security officers. It is not enough to take on this population of bigots by force. This will be a simple retrieval operation. One of the lieutenants is patching information through to the ship, two others I have sent to scout the area. The last stays hidden, her eyes gleaming. Her own hatred is pouring off her, the

_fucking xenophobes fucking racists fuckers kill them all fucking irrational gonna tear them apart how about I rape them with a fucking stick for a change see how they like that fucking xenophobes let me at them let me at the fuckers let me kill them let me at them_

"Commander, the central tent here seems to be where all the sick are. We didn't see Doc McCoy, but that's our best bet, to wait until he's there and get him out."

"We will have to wait until nightfall. The light makes us too visible, and the colonists likely know these hills far better than us."

"The darkness'll only get in the way of getting back. None of us have lights—it'll be pitch black and near impossible to move then."

"Nevertheless, our chances of escape are better if we are concealed. Even if we cannot get back to the main colony, we may hide and find shelter. Lt. Facon, Lt. Hernandez, find suitable locations that we may use to shelter ourselves. Lt. Albom, show me the location of the tent. Ensign Pulliam remain on guard. Signal us if anyone comes near."

The officers dispersed quickly and quietly.

--

"Spock, what the _hell_ are you doing here?"

"We do not have time, Leonard. We must leave this place—"

"Do you know what they'll do to ya if they find ya? Go, leave, I'm okay. Just hang around in this area until whatever's holdin' Jim up gets fixed and I'll be fine, but you've got ta leave—"

"Leonard, it is not safe for you here. I have been fully briefed about what these people are capable of—"

"As long as they're sick, they need a doctor. They're not gonna do anythin' to me."

"Do not argue with me, doctor. We have a place to hide and—"

"What better way to draw attention to the fact that there are others here!" he hissed. "Hurry up, someone's gonna come in any minute and they'll kill you for being Vulcan, so just go, damnit!"

"I will not leave without you."

"This isn't time for you to pull any stunts, _get out of here_."

"Dr. McCoy, I've brought the bandages—"

A scream. Thin, shrill, piercing, a clarion call to others

_alien alien alien kill him kill him kill him filthy dirty alien alien alien disgusting kill him fear fear fear fear never never never alien alien kill him kill him alien_

--

"What the hell are you doing!"

"He's an alien. Green blooded bastard taking what's ours. They'll rape your women and kill your children the first chance they get!"

"Will ya just listen ta what you're _sayin'_? He's here because _you_ kidnapped me, brought to this godforsaken mountain ta heal all your sick here. Y'all aint got no right ta do this—!"

"This _alien_ dont got a right ta live, the way I see it."

"Kill it!"

"He's half human, for God's sakes, why don't y'all just calm down and stop this damn madness."

"You actually mean to tell me that some bitch spread her legs for an alien bastard? Some fucking whore let an alien fuck her?"

_green fury rushing to my head_ I struggle against the restraints and try to tear away _and I'll kill you kill you kill you_ I am Vulcan, I will not let their emotions consume me _flame die I'll kill you for saying that purge you and all your kind with fire_ I will not let their emotions consume me stand away from the abyss do not stare evil in the eye for the same hatred in their faces is reflected in yours

_the horror the fear the grief the terror _Emanin's revelation his question that _what if I'm just like him deep down inside what if I'm just like him_

--

Leonard climbs up clumsily onto the raised platform.

"It's not gonna stop us, doctor."

He makes no indication that he can hear them. He looks me straight in the eye and grins. The expression speaks of irony and the doctor's keen appreciation for black humor. But underneath, in his eyes is knowledge, like a confirmation of something he already knew.

"How the hell does every single mission turn out like this? It aint natural, the sheer bad luck that follows this ship around."

"You should not have attempted to defend me, Leonard. The townspeople still intend to light this on fire."

He nods.

"I thought witch burnings went outta style a long time ago."

"Doctor, this is not a joking matter. I believe they will allow you to live, as your services are needed."

"Spock," his voice is quiet. In the background is the sound of fire catching onto dry wood, the snapping and cracking of flames. "I'd rather die here and now on this backwater planet than go back to those xenophobes."

"This is not a time for symbolic heroics, Leonard."

Smoke curls into the night sky.

"I'm not getting myself lit on fire as a matter of symbolism. I'm standing by you, because there was a time when I was about to die and you stood by me. I'm proud to serve with you, and I'm not ashamed to die with you either. So you're stuck with me."

Heat rises.

"I fail to understand how that speech does not qualify as symbolic heroism."

Dr. McCoy grasps onto the stake. The carbon monoxide and heat are beginning to effect him.

"Damnit Spock! We're being torched and you still have to have the last damn word."

A touch. Contact between us, a message passed that

_I was once like them too, though I wouldn't admit it. That same prejudice peering out from me, the same potential to hate and kill driven by pure irrational bigotry. I've made some mistakes, I haven't always been the man I should have been. But if this is how it ends, it aint such a bad way to die, standing beside an equal and a friend. Not for heroism, but for a friend. I can think of worse ways to go._

--

"Well look at this. Seems we got here just in the nick of time."

Jim.

"What does that make us?"

"Big damn heroes, sir," Nyota replies.

"Aint we just. Sorry to interrupt guys, but you all have something that belongs to us. We'd like it back."

"This is cleansing! We're setting the universe to its rights!"

"You all see the man hanging out the of the shuttle with the really big gun?"

Sulu waves at the crowd.

"I'm not saying you weren't easy to find, and it was kind of out of our way. Not to mention that it was a bitch to pilot the shuttle down here in the first place. Anyway, he's looking to kill one you xenophobe pricks. Oh, and my security teams have got this place surrounded. You're all looking at spending some quality time at a penal colony, so you've got bigger problems than trying to 'cleanse' the universe."

The security teams were dousing the flames. Jim stepped onto the platform.

"How the hell do you manage to get yourself into these situations?" he asked me.

"I do not know, Jim."

"Bones, you okay?"

"I'll be fine, Jim. Just get us outta here."

The captain turned back to the crowd and addressed them.

"Cut him down."

"It's an _alien_," someone raged.

"Yeah, but he's _my_ alien," Jim aimed his phaser at the speaker. "So cut him the hell down."


	129. Ch 129

Jim entered Sickbay. "What happened down there?"

"What happened up here? Why couldn't y'all beam me up? Unless those Orion ships showed up."

"They showed up. I'm gonna haveta deal with that mess, but I want to know what happened planetside first. How the hell were you kidnapped, Bones? Did you wander around in the woods alone or something?"

"Jim, I wasn't wearin' a sign that said 'kidnap me, please,' I'm not stupid."

"Then how the hell did this happen?!"

"Look, take a few deep breaths and calm down—"

"I've told you a billion times, you've got to be aware of your surroundings. You'll never know where the next threat might come from—"

"Jim, that sounds an awful lot like PTSD talkin'—"

"It's not PTSD, it's fucking experience. I've drilled it into the heads of all the security people, everyone on Away Teams is supposed to know this, all of this could have been totally preventable—"

"Look on the bright side. We discovered the colonists who've been snatching people, torturing, maiming, killin' them. Justice'll be served—"

"Bones, what the fuck are you talking about? You were being burned at stake by a bunch of crazy xenophobes. What were you trying to do, _reason_ with them? That kind of hatred doesn't know anything rational!"

"I know that, probably better than you do. Jim, take a step back and look at this objectively—"

"And you," he turned to me. "How did _you_ let this happen? You've a fucking Vulcan, you've got tons of strength. We spar and train all the time, you shouldn't have even been up there! You could just snap their necks and no one would blame you for it."

"Jim, some of my attackers were young and their actions were a product of years of indoctrination. There is a chance that they might be reeducated and integrate a better paradigm."

"No. They're still fucking responsible for their actions."

"If those actions are predetermined by their environment, then I cannot wholly place the blame on them for what they learned and believe to be true."

"They have fucking free will!"

"What is that free will if they have never known an alternative?"

"Not everyone in that crowd was young. No one would've blamed you for killing them. You've killed before, I know you've killed before."

"I have. But to preserve my life at the cost of killing an entire population of Terrans?"

"They've killed tons of others, they're fucking xenophobes who _won't change_, no matter what you think about their past or education."

"Though they are bigots, I do not count their lives to be worth less than any other's life, captain. The fact that they do not respect my right to live does not mean I should not extend to them that same right."

"You've killed for me."

"Killing for another and killing for oneself are two separate matters."

"So you're telling me you were just willing to _die_?"

"No. Captain, the situation was not so simple as you make it seem."

"Life and death. Two choices. Binary. I think that's as simple as it gets, Spock. Life or death, and you were going to be burned alive!"

"Jim, just because Spock's Vulcan doesn't mean he can resist fifteen men holding guns to his head. He did the best he could without getting blown to pieces. That kind of death's a lot more immediate and a lot less fixable. You know that choices like that aren't ever binary. He was fightin' for time, countin' on survivin' long enough for you or a team ta show up."

"_What if I didn't_?"

"It is useless to speculate on hypothetical situations. We are alive. We have survived."

"Jim, step back and look at this rationally. This was a stressful situation with you being tied up with the Orions and us in danger planetside. You had some strong emotional ties in this whole thing. Take a few deep breaths—"

"Don't fucking lecture me, Bones."

"I'm not lecturin' ya, I'm giving you a goddamn diagnosis. You're experiencing emotional backlash right now, ragin' at us because you felt helpless during the whole thing, didn't ya. That's why you made a goddamn grand entrance to rescue us, so that you could feel like you had grips on the situation again. You're in a position of authority, you're used to controllin' the operations of the _Enterprise,_ and you've usually got a good hold of your emotions. But this relationship you and Spock have goin' threw a giant wrench into everythin' and for the first time in your life you're afraid of what you can't do.

"You've got to find some way to separate your duty from your personal feelings, because if this goes on much longer, somethin's gonna give and you won't be fit to command."

"What, you're gonna declare me emotionally compromised, Bones?"

"If I have to. I know Spock can separate between the two. You, I'm not so sure of."

Jim straightened. His captain's mask slid into place and his eyes were hard.

"You've made your point, Dr. McCoy. If you'll excuse me, I've got some things to take care of."

"Jim," I reached for him.

The light behind his eyes wavered.

I kissed him.

He did not respond, but stood rigidly.

I kissed him again.

He still did not respond.

I stepped back and said very quietly, "I'm sorry."

Suddenly, Jim's arms came around me and he held me tightly. Before I could return the embrace, he released me, kissed me briefly, then turned and exited the Sickbay.

I turned and looked at Leonard. He scrubbed his hand against his face.

"That could've gone better."

I made no reply.

"I'm workin' on my tongue and temper, all right? My ex-wife always said they were the worst parts of me."

"I have leveled no accusation against you, Leonard, unless you feel that my presence somehow represents a condemnation. In which case, I will leave you."

"No, no, that's not what I meant. I'd like ya to stay. There's somethin' I've been meanin' ta apologize for."

"Apologize?"

"Yeah. You were right about me, way back at the beginning of our five year mission."

I was puzzled.

"I was xenophobic, and it showed in the way I behaved towards you. I'd like to apologize for that."

_I was once like them too, though I wouldn't admit it._

"Jim had a talk with me right when we all began serving together. It wasn't a talk, more like a grilling. I never thought I'd see the day when I got lectured by a guy 14 years younger than me and be forced to admit that everythin' he said was right."

_That same prejudice peering out from me, the same potential to hate and kill driven by pure irrational bigotry._

"He told me point blank that I had some severely xenophobic tendencies. Jim's not one to beat around the bush, so he just went right to the heart of things. And damn, but that made me mad. I've never thought of myself as a xenophobe, and I've never consciously been prejudiced against others. But he gave some compelling arguments, especially pointing to my behavior towards you. And he forced me to take a psych eval of myself, to see if I had any kind of internal bias against aliens.

"Turns out, I did. I had some real deep seated and unconscious prejudices. I took that damn test three times in all its different incarnations and the results never changed. Starin' in my face was an ugly truth.

"My first reaction was to start questionin' the validity of the test. Now, there are some inherent flaws to it and I'm not sayin' that I necessarily agree with everythin' they told me about myself. But I couldn't argue that I've been influenced by the society I've been raised in. I thought that I had escaped the long history of prejudice that runs in the McCoy family, but I didn't, not really. In some ways, I'm just like my fathers. I just happen to live at a time when most forms of bigotry are unacceptable.

"You want ta take a seat?" he motioned to a chair. "This is gonna take a while. I tend ta get long winded. My momma always said I was somethin' of a story teller."

I sat. The doctor pulled out two glasses and a flask of brandy, one of the bottles left over from the shore leave.

"Ya don't haveta drink it. Just makes me feel more comfortable to occupy my hands with somethin' while I'm talkin'."

He poured the drinks, then took a sip.

"I don't know how much you know about my family. The McCoys are an old Southern family, we can trace our lineage way back. Some great grandfather or other established the McCoy plantation down in Georgia, and we built our family name and wealth like they all did back then. My family was deeply entrenched in that grand slave owning tradition. It's how they made their money, it's how they built that house.

"My great-however many greats ya need-grandfathers and grandmothers were slave owners. When the Civil War came, they fought for the South. We've got old grey uniforms in our house, journals and letters documentin' their participation in the war. My sister tells me she read an entry written on the day the slaves heard about the Emancipation Proclamation. The lady writin' thought it was just about the end of civilization.

"After the war ended, my family went from bein' slave owners to racists. When the laws that were supposed to put the newly freed slaves on equal footing fell through, my family was right there, waitin' ta take power again. I know for a fact that my great uncles wrote legislation that put poll taxes into place, disenfranchised the freedmen in fifteen different ways, barred them from gettin' any sort of material freedom. We rented out our land to sharecroppers and trapped them on the same tired land their fathers slaved over.

"That racism went on for a long time. My family staunchly defended the ridiculous 'separate but equal' idea handed down, they supported the Jim Crow laws, they firmly believed that they deserved a higher place in life. African Americans went from bein' seen as animals to subhuman to human, but of an inferior breed. I guess it's not surprisin' that they didn't like the idea of women gettin' the right to vote, homosexuals gettin' the right to marry, and years later with Earth's First Contact, they were right in the ranks with the xenophobes.

"I'm not sayin' that bigotry's hereditary and runs in the family. There were McCoys who reacted against their parents and marched with Martin Luther King to Washington, participated in protests, were real activists. But I—we were all—raised in a certain environment. The family take a lot of pride in the McCoy's long history of service to their country and the Federation, but that history aint always the prettiest thing. I know I'm not responsible for my grandparents and all of that, but I still haven't come to terms with a lot of things about my family.

"For a while, I was disgusted by some of the things they did—I think a couple of my great-whatevers were members of the Ku Klux Klan. It made me so angry, boilin' over with rage. I condemned them in my mind. I thought I was standin' on such higher moral ground than my fathers and grandfathers. I thought I wasn't xenophobic, homophobic, racist, sexist, all that, so I got mad that my family was. And then Jim slams this test in front of me that says I am. That subconsciously, I've still absorbed prejudiced attitudes. That I'm probably no better than those men and women long dead, and if I had been born in a different time, I might've been gung ho about joinin' the KKK too.

"What are ya supposed to do about that? It made me feel so goddamn helpless against it. I honestly didn't mean ta act like a xenophobe or prefer humans over aliens, but I do anyway. How the hell do you fight against somethin' as insidious as that? And what the hell does it say about us, humans? Why the hell do we do that automatically, like a reflex? Do we just need someone to hate, like it's just hardwired into us as deep as our need for love? I thought we were supposed to be past all this—I thought our educations would remove that, or maybe we'd evolve past things like hate. Instead, it's almost like it's goddamn part of bein' human. And I didn't want it. I didn't want ta face that. I'm not a xenophobe, I'm not my family, but it didn't seem like I have much of a choice on either count. After I took the test, I wanted to punch Jim and burn the computer terminal."

Leonard took a sip of his brandy.

"I thought about it a long while. Drank some too. I didn't find any answers ta anything, but I made a resolution to try and be courteous to ya, even if ya infuriated me in more ways than I can count. Still do, for that matter," he laughed.

"Then tonight, starin' at those colonists who were screamin' for your death, I realized somethin'. I recognized in me that same potential for evil, the same seed of hatred rooted deep inside. But I also saw a choice I had made, and the knowledge I had.

"I don't know how I would've turned out in a different time and place. It's fair ta say that I'd be a completely different person. And I'm not my father, or mother, or grandfather, or great uncle, or whatever. I'm who I am, flawed though I might be. I might not be able to control my family, my environment, or much of my subconscious, but I can still choose. I can acknowledge that I'm shaped by my education, influenced by the society around me, in some measure controlled by totally irrational impulses. But that knowledge—my conscious and my intelligence—gives me power, and knowing these things about myself, I can choose not to act on those prejudices. The instinct to hate and fear what's different is in me, but I've also got a solid mass of brain cells lodged between my ears.

"I told you that intelligence has always been a double edged sword. That holds for my family. Knowledge—science, religion, history, economics, psychology, literature, medicine—all of it was used by my family to justify a long history of bigotry. My folks were all highly educated, more than your average Joe on the street. You'd've thought that they'd use their intelligence to open their eyes and realize how messed up society was and change things. They certainly were in a position to put some changes in place. Instead, they used that intelligence to generate and prolong the worst hatreds.

"But intelligence can be used to create and discover truth. And for me, it gives me hope that despite the impulse to hate, that impulse doesn't have to control us. Intelligence, as deadly a weapon as it is, also means that people can be reasoned with. That people might, through the process of learnin' about others and themselves, be able ta realize that they were wrong. That they might use their eyes and observe that there's no real reason for all this cruelty, these fears and phobias.

"Intelligence allowed me ta change, it gave me the insight ta be able to admit my errors and acknowledge the fallacies of my former biases. It tempers my impulse to judge a person based on whatever, be it gender, skin color, sexual orientation, religion, age, specie. Instead of seein' those things and havin' some sorta knee-jerk reaction, I have the power ta evaluate a person on their own merits. For everyone, it levels the playin' field so that even though those characteristics're important parts of the individual, it doesn't define 'em. Intelligence lets me see others and respect them, even when I don't see eye ta eye with them."

He took a long draught of his drink.

"And lookin' at things objectively, we've come a long way. You can almost trace the path mankind has followed to get to where we are today in the generations of my family. Humanity's definitions of the inalienable rights of an individual have expanded a lot. Society aint perfect, but we've made amazin' strides since the days the McCoy plantation was built. Discrimination, still exists, but it's not acceptable. No one's crazy enough to justify slavery. Hate crimes are reported and prosecuted with due process of law. Even between you and Jim—way back in the day, two gay men would've been brutalized and killed for being who they are. That sure as hell doesn't happen anymore.

"We don't have complete equality everywhere, but we're gettin' there. Even this colony we visited—it was great ta see everyone just livin', goin' about daily life and their own business. Those crazy xenophobes can't stop the tide of progress civilization's been makin'. That's somethin' anyone can drink to."

Leonard grinned, raised his glass to me, and took a sip. He sat back and relaxed, but the smile on his face faded as he sat, lost in his thoughts.

"Ya know what's funny? Starin' at those colonists, I couldn't bring myself ta hate them. I'm not sayin' that I like them—some of the shit they did on others is just pure inhumanity. Nothing can justify what they did, or what they tried ta do to ya. But I couldn't bring myself ta hate them. The only thing I could feel was just this choking grief."

He exhaled.

"There was a man back in pre-Warp days who made a great speech about the fight for equality and the struggle against bigotry. He was actually from Atlanta Georgia, my hometown. I mentioned him—his name was Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. A highly educated man, and a preacher at that. He faced a hostile nation, an entire army of intelligence arrayed against the notion of granting equal rights. He waged a long war against inequality, and never even got to see the end of it. Some lunatic assassinated him before he could enjoy the savor of equality and taste the freedom he longed for.

"They wrote on his tombstone 'Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, I'm free at last.' It was supposed to refer to the fact that they finally passed national legislation that would restore what's rightfully every individual's to begin with. But I wonder sometimes, if that's what it really means. Because as far as I can tell, we'll always be struggling against some form of bigotry, within ourselves and within society. I've got ta fight my instinct ta fear and recoil. I'll never be free of it, not until the fire inside me's gone out."

Leonard looked away.

"I have no idea where it came from, but standin' on that platform watchin' those colonists light the fire—it felt like my heart was breakin'."


	130. Ch 130

I wait for Jim in his quarters. He has granted me free access.

"It's only logical," he shrugged. "You spend so much time here. I find your datapads mixed in my pile sometimes."

The bulkheads open. I stand. Jim looks at me. Something inside him seems to unravel. He reigns it in, but I step towards him, closing the distance between us. I look at his lips, then make eye contact. He exhales, body relaxing slightly.

I kiss him.

He leans into me.

"I'm trying. I'm trying to do this whole separate duty and personal shit thing, but you make it so damn hard," he whispers.

"You require more time, Jim. It was unreasonable of both myself and Dr. McCoy to expect you to suddenly divide your life into two parts, when both have always been highly integrated."

He wraps his arms around me loosely. "This feels right. I don't want to go back to when I didn't have this."

"Nevertheless, it is necessary for you to divide the associations you have of me. On the bridge, on Away Missions, I am your First Officer and I will conduct myself as such. Here, it is," I pause. Words come to mind, but I ignore them. "It is different."

"I've never done that. I've never thought of you as Spock, that guy who's my First Officer, or Spock, the guy who's my Science Officer. Everything's related to everything else."

"You have no difficulty separating your public image with the person you present to your familiars."

"This isn't the same. I only do that when I'm being interviewed, talking to Nogura, or meeting a diplomat. I don't want to do that every time I'm on the bridge with you."

He kisses me.

"I'll figure something out, don't worry."

He disengages and drops his arms. Jim walks to his drawers, peeling off the shirts of his uniform as he goes. The shirts are thrown to the side.

I watch the interplay of muscles on his back, the stretching of the latissimus dorsi, the smooth curve of his deltoid connecting to his shoulder, the plane of the trapezius muscle as he bends. The indent along his vertebrae falls in sharp contrast when he stands again. The skin of his neck creases as he twists his head. Jim shuffles through the drawers and for each movement, I can see the muscles beneath his skin working fluidly. Along his arms I can see the paths of arteries and veins. Jim picks up a shirt. He unfolds it carelessly, puts his two arms through the sleeves, then draws the shirt over his head. The action causes him to raise his arms and the lines of his back change, forming a completely new topography. I watch as the material of the cloth finally goes over his body, covering the view.

Jim pauses in his search for the remainder of his sleepwear.

"You staying tonight?"

I shake my head. I require a session for meditation.

"Okay. When're you going on shift?"

"I will be there for Beta shift. Afterwards, Dr. McCoy and I will continue work on our project."

"By the way, Chekov wants to know when you'll have time for that project he wants to do with the navigation panel."

"I will speak to him on the matter."

I moved to leave.

"Spock?"

"Yes captain?"

"Thanks."


	131. Ch 131

Inequality. The inability to be oneself, the inability to present one's true identity, the inability to express one's thoughts without the risk of scorn, wrath, or humiliation. The opposition one faces when one dares to reach for the purest and highest in life. The indifferent and repetitive message that one's logic is inferior, that one's emotions are deficient, that I have no place in this universe.

I have known many kinds of inequality.

Leonard spoke of his struggle with his own prejudices and the role his family played institutionalizing discrimination in society at large. He spoke of inequality in terms of history, politics, power. It is understandable that he considers the question in that context, given his past. I, however, have always thought of the problem from another perspective. I cannot speak of the general struggle for equality among different groups, but I can speak of another struggle. I am not referring to legalities. As a citizen of the Federation, I have all the rights and responsibilities of every other individual. In that respect, I am an equal.

I am speaking of another type of equality, one that is intangible and in my experience, rare. For I am both human and Vulcan, and my mixed heritage has always preceded me. Others have always defined me in those terms, imposing their own constructions on me and never stopping to see who I am as an individual, rather than an alien.

For I have always been an alien. I have always been counted as different, an anomaly, like an impossible equation whose two sides can never be resolved. That assumption was so forcibly impressed on me that I became alien to myself, the Terran half at odds with the Vulcan half, the two sides never reconciled to form a whole.

I no longer fault Vulcans or Terrans for this divide in myself, this intrinsic inequality. The worlds of Terra and Vulcan have both held freedom and equality as inalienable rights of individuals. Vulcans have always deeply respected the diversity of the universe and its living species. It goes against all principles of logic to prefer one life form over another, and Vulcans have always been fascinated by the multiplicity that life produces. Terrans discovered those inalienable rights in a wholly different, somewhat convoluted manner. Throughout their history, they fought against a long tradition of instinctive bigotry and hatred, striving to extend the right to freedom and equality to all creatures.

I understand now that the hostility I faced in both societies was not due to an active program to repress me. There was no specific agenda planned in which each species decided I did not fit any of their paradigms. Neither has there ever been any suggestion that I should be removed, killed, separated, or that I have no right to exist. Terrans and Vulcans accept that I exist, that I am sentient, and that I am entitled to all the rights accorded to a sentient being.

That does not mean there was ever a place for me in society. Legal equality was not what I sought. I yearned for another type of equality, one that perhaps all individuals in the universe seek.

Equality. The ability to define oneself according to one's own truth, live it, and have others recognize the intrinsic value of that claim. To have society accept it fully, without exceptions and stipulations upon one's person. To define one's own mathematics, and have others see the beauty there.

I did not find this equality on Vulcan, nor did I find it on Terra. In retrospect, I wonder if the equality I sought has always been there in some form on both planets, but that I could not see it. I did not realize that one cannot find the equality one seeks when one is fundamentally divided against onself. I would never perceive others as accepting me when I could not accept my two halves.

That is not to say, however, that my perception of this inequality is unfounded. Simply resolving the Vulcan and Terrans parts would not have been a sufficient solution. My difficulties stem from the treatment I received in society. My internal imbalance exacerbated the issue.

It is difficult to build one's unique sense of self when others are constantly impressing their judgment upon one. That judgment may not be explicit. It often takes the form of a nebulous feeling, a din of voices that somehow whisper and shout at the same time. One's own voice is lost in the sea of contradictory expectations, perceptions, opinions. One feels as though others are trying to categorize one according to their own whims and convenience, and in the process confine, restrict, constrict the individual.

As a child, that environment is like a crushing weight. One struggles and fights against it, even as one accepts that burden. Yet I hoped that somehow, whether by gaining entrance into the Vulcan Science Academy or going through the ritual of Kolinahr, I would be fully accepted into my father's society. I thought that in gaining their acceptance, I would no longer be seen—that I would no longer see myself—in terms of fragments.

As an adult, that environment dulls the will to continue fighting and searching. One becomes accustomed to the isolation and even prefers it. One expects and comes to accept that this is reality and that it is unchangeable. I was respected on Terra among all the cadets and professors. But where Vulcans considered me inferior due to the influence of my emotions, Terrans distanced me by my intellect. There were few with whom I could converse, few who shared in the sheer range of my interests. Respect was mixed with fear—Nyota has told me that many were intimidated by the ruthlessness of my logic. Other Terrans simply could not relate to an existence based on rationality. Vulcan and Terran attitudes to emotion was another fundamental divide.

Nyota was the first person willing to see past her own insecurities, spend time to deconstruct my exterior, look at me, and like what she saw there. She accepted me as I was. I believe that she recognized the solution to my internal struggle long before I was able to conceive of it, and that she tried to push me along that path. Nyota took me to Stravinsky concerts, introduced me to the Nederlands Dans Theater, had me stand before Rothko paintings, accompanied me to Verdi operas, all under the pretense that these were purely intellectual outings. In many respects, that was true. I analyzed the psychological effect of color fields on Terran psychology, I explicated the significance of time and measures in the context of Stravinsky's oeuvre, I considered the technique and physical requirements of Terran vocal chords in singing bel canto, I discussed with her the contrast between diagonal, vertical, and horizontal lines in movement, conceptualizing dance in terms of rising and falling, inhaling and exhaling.

Yet even as my mind worked, my emotions responded. They stirred, deep inside. I believe that was the first instance when I consciously recognized that emotions might enhance one's understanding of a subject matter, rather than obscure one's logic. It was certainly the first time I considered that emotions might be necessary to comprehend myself and the world around me.

Still, Nyota wanted more than I could provide. When we initiated our romantic relationship, the terms were always unequal. She always invested more emotionally than I was able, while I gave more intellectually than she could return. Nyota is a genius, but her brilliance is similar to mine. We are more likely to agree with each other than disagree, more likely to interpret data and our observations in the same manner than challenge each other's perceptions. She needed, and tried to produce, more emotions from me, while I found our conversations interesting, but not exhilarating. It was only a matter of time before our romantic relationship ended.

Then the _Narada_ destroyed Vulcan.

That mission split me open emotionally like nothing else ever had. My rage, sorrow, hatred, longing, were pushed to the forefront and forcibly released, put on full display. The aftermath drew me closer to Nyota, who shared my grief and supported me when I felt totally isolated from the world. Nero's actions brought me in contact with James T. Kirk, a man whose intelligence is so different from mine that even now, after serving under him for one and a half Terran years, I cannot claim to know him. I met an alternate self who held out the hope for something I longed for yet long suppressed. And for the first time, guided by nothing but a feeling, I chose to accept the position of First Officer under Captain James T. Kirk and serve aboard the _Enterprise_.

On this ship, I have found equality. I have found a place where those around me accept me wholly, who value me as an individual and respect me as an officer. Through the process of time and circumstance, working together in close quarters, we have had the opportunity to observe each other and understand one another as we are, not as we are thought to be. I have found the courage to accept my Terran half and face it without fear. I will never consider myself a Terran—the inequality still exists within me. However, in accepting the divide, I have balanced the equation, so that there is no contradiction in declaring that I am half Terran, half Vulcan, but count myself a Vulcan serving in Starfleet.

Not only that, but on this ship, I have found an equal. Jim challenges me as much as I challenge him. He offers a completely different and new perspective to questions I thought I had already answered. We push against each other, we pull in opposite directions and in the process I find that somehow, I have changed. He has never demanded me to conduct myself a certain way, he has never expected me to be more or less Vulcan or Terran. We react to the presence of the other, inducing transformations that neither could anticipate. Like chemical reagents seeking equilibrium, he and I respond to external pressures by Le Chatelier's principle, constantly adjusting and compensating wherever necessary. At once a unit yet distinct in our components, Jim and I create another equation.

I have known many kinds of inequality. The more I see of others and the more I see past my own insecurities, I believe that every sentient being living in the context of society knows the inherent inequalities that exist between people. We are bound by our appearances, we want that others would see through the exterior and unflinchingly accept the beauty and ugliness that characterize us. More than that, we long for others to value what they see.

I am learning of the many types of equality. It is something both found and created, gifted and forged. It is a place in the universe, it is an exchange between two people, it is a definition built on a divide, a basis that spans both spaces.

Yet something stirs deep inside, telling me that I have only touched the surface. That underneath, another divide—a contradiction—waits. A fire whispers of an equality beyond thought and emotion, a bond between two equally matched katras, another event that will split me open and redefine everything. It fills me with terror. I have only recently found a balance in myself. This threatens to overturn every assumption I have, rewrite all my axioms before I have finished exploring my mathematics.

I will not let it consume me. I have lived too long without a true sense of self to give it up to a fire. Jim looks at me with his blue eyes, igniting every corner of my mind and body. I will not let him burn me away, I will not allow him to compromise me once more.

Even as I moan into his kiss.


	132. Ch 132

_Earth, my likeness,  
Though you look so impassive, ample, spheric there,  
I now suspect that is not all;  
I now suspect there is something fierce in you eligible to burst forth,  
For an athlete is enamour'd of me, and I of him,  
But toward him there is something fierce and terrible in me eligible to burst forth,  
I dare not tell it in words, not even in these songs._

-Walt Whitman

--

We have just completed another diplomatic mission, successfully brokered another treaty.

None of that matters right now.

I place my left hand on the base of his neck, my right hand holds him at his hip. I lightly kiss his neck. Jim turns his head sharply. I avoid being seen by pressing a kiss into the other side. He tries to turn around, but I wrap my right arm around his waist and my left arm goes across his chest, my left hand holding his right shoulder. He stiffens, then leans into my embrace. I proceed to trail kisses down his neck, listening to the small sounds he makes, finding the spots that make him sigh. He tilts his head to give me better access to his neck. I kiss the angle of his jawbone, I softly suck from that point down the smooth curve of his neck.

"Oh god, Spock," he whispers.

I tentatively bite down on the skin. He inhales. I lick.

I want to kiss the bone of his spinal column, but his uniform prevents me. I keep my right hand firmly around his waist, the thumb of my right hand rubbing circles into his hipbone. My left hand moves to unbutton Jim's dress uniform. I slide my hand across his chest until I find the first button. I kiss his ear and my hand deftly unbuttons, one at a time. Jim is standing very still. As I unbutton the second button, I can feel his chest pounding. My hand lingers there as I kiss the skin behind his right ear. The third button comes undone. I catch his earlobe between my teeth and touch my tongue to it. His shirt is now loose. As my hand works on the fourth button, we touch, skin to skin. He inhales. His body tenses as my hand moves down to the fifth button, my index finger tracing the line of his abdomen. When that button is unloosed, I slip my hand under the material of his uniform and feel the muscles tighten and relax, tighten and relax with the ragged cadence of his breathing. The cloth, stiff and constricting, loses its structure and I finally have my objective. I kiss the bone of his spinal column, and leave the last button intact.

I shift his shirt and it opens like the petals of a blossom, revealing the smooth skin along his shoulders, the bone of his collarbone, the muscles connecting his neck to his shoulderblade to his vertebrae. I plant light kisses there, sometimes tasting, sometimes biting. My left hand travels up his torso, feeling every indentation of bone and muscle. My fingers run over the ripples of his ribs, the hard segment of his sternum, over his pectoral muscles, into the indent formed by his clavicle.

Jim turns his head. The desire to remain still and the desire to turn and grab me war inside him. I make him feel incredible. My slow touch, my kisses, are excruciatingly hard to bear even as he wants more. I catch his ear in my mouth and explore with my tongue each and every fold. I bite down on his curved helix, touch the tip of my tongue to the tip of his tragus. I lick the ridge of his antihelix down to the antitragus, then finally kiss his earlobe and suck gently.

"Spock," he breathes and his eyelids flutter. "Where the hell did you learn to do this," he manages to say.

"I am improvising, Jim," I murmur into his neck. I return my attention to his ear and whisper, "I have a _very_ high learning curve."

A shudder runs through his body. He finally breaks out of my hold, grabs me, and kisses me hard on the mouth. His right hand travels down my arm and rests on my hip. As his tongue pushes into my mouth, his left hand holds the back of my head. My left arm goes around him and the tips of my fingers explore the lines of his back while my right hand remains anchored near the L4 vertebra. Jim's right hand shifts, the cool temperature traveling down the inguinal ligament to my groin.

I stiffen, inhale, and pull back from the kiss. My pupils are dilated.

"Shit, sorry." Jim quickly removes his hand and attempts to take a step back.

I keep him in place. Then slowly move my right hand from his L4 to his side, down to the bone of his hip, along his inguinal ligament, to the same position on his groin. Jim inhales sharply and I find the zipper of his pants. My index finger goes up the metal line clasp by clasp, applying more and more pressure until I reach the top. Jim moans when I remove my touch.

"Oh _god_."

He bites into the side of my neck and sucks. His fingers quickly unbutton my uniform and he pushes it off my shoulders. The buttons of my cuffs are still intact so the cloth, instead of falling to the floor, traps my arms slightly behind me. Jim bites into my collarbone and sucks, his hands ranging up and down my abdomen, around the bare skin of my back. I barely have the presence of mind to find the tiny buttons of the cuffs, but I am successful and the shirt finally slides off, freeing my arms. I use that freedom to unloose the last button of his uniform shirt and trap Jim more effectively in my former position. His shoulders arc back and his neck is forced upright as a result. Jim makes a noise of frustration and attempts to rid himself of the impediment.

That noise transforms when I kiss him on his right shoulder, his clavicle, then travel down, licking and kissing and scraping my teeth along the way. His attempts to free himself cease and instead he simply stands, chest heaving with each breath. I stand upright again and kiss him, my tongue sliding over the roof of his mouth to the back of his throat while my left hand goes over his gluteus muscles and my right hand slides down from the beginning of his abdominal muscles to their terminal point. Jim's hips arc up to my touch and there is nothing to offset the imbalance of the action. He tips back, then crashes into me and every part of him is straining, arms straining against the uniform, neck straining to keep his mouth in contact with mine, thighs straining with the pressure of my hands. It brings his muscles into fantastic contrast, tension running through every line of his body.

"Spock, get this shirt off me _now_," his breath is ragged.

"Jim, I regret to inform you that I have a departmental meeting with all the scientists in exactly nine minutes, after which I am scheduled to meet Dr. McCoy to continue our project. Then I have promised to begin another project with Pavel to improve the navigation helm."

"You're kidding me."

"Have I ever—"

He kisses me and for a moment, it seems like he is trying to suck all the air out of my lungs. Even with his arms still entangled, Jim takes control and kisses me until I am certain my lips are swollen, all the while pressing himself into my hand. I manage to break the kiss and take several steps back.

Jim looks torn between ordering me back to finish what I unambiguously started or calling security to have me arrested and court martialed. He manages to slide back into his dress uniform shirt and almost rips the cuffs open. I pick up my own uniform from the floor and put it back on. After I am done buttoning, I touch my fingers to my lips, then touch Jim's lips. He tries to catch my middle finger in his teeth, but I move my hand. Instead, his teeth scrape against the skin, sending a spike of fire up my arm. I retract my arm firmly back to my side, and without another look at Jim, exit his quarters.

In the privacy of my quarters, I do nothing but stare at my hands for three and a half minutes, contemplating a gesture and a question.


	133. Ch 133

"Kirk to Sickbay."

"McCoy here. What's up, Jim?"

"Get Chapel up here. I think she might want to see this."

"Want to tell me what this is about?"

"We're approaching Exo 3. Uhura's picked up some signals. It's nothing to get our hopes up, but it's more than just nothing."

"I'll send her up immediately."

"Thanks. Kirk out."

--

Christine entered the bridge, lips pressed in a thin line, grey eyes sparkling with an unnamed emotion. She gave a look to Nyota.

"The files say you gave up a career in bio-research to sign aboard a starship."

"Is he alive down there, captain?"

Jim put down the datapad.

"It's been five years since his last message."

"Dr. McCoy said—"

"We found a trace of a signal. Lt. Uhura's still listening for more, if there is anything," he looked at the nurse steadily. "Five years is a long time."

"Roger was a very determined man. I always thought—even after they called the search off—that he'd find a way to live."

"Captain, I'm going to send out a spread of signals on every frequency."

"Understood, lieutenant. Put it on bridge audio if you get anything."

"Aye sir."

"Spock?"

"Ship's record banks show little we don't already know about this planet, captain. Gravity one point one of Terra, atmosphere within the limits of safety. The average surface temperature is, as expected, approximately 98.5 degrees Centigrade below zero."

"Have your scientists confirmed the location of the impact crater?"

"Affirmative. Speaking in terms of geologic time, the planet was recently hit by an extraterrestrial body that caused mass extinction, upheavals in the environment, and now this extended Ice Age. There is a team of scientists standing by in the transporter room to collect measurements and data on the planet and the crater."

"Anything else?"

"Previous reports indicate that there was once a thriving civilization on this planet. There are conflicting theories as to their whereabouts. The technology found on some archeological digs shows that while the aliens did not yet have space faring capabilities, they had sufficient technology to be aware of the object's approach and collision course."

"Would they have had enough time to evacuate? Where would they evacuate to?"

"Those questions remain unanswered. Dr. Korby was among the number who believed the aliens somehow survived. He received a grant to launch an exploratory mission. The team sent two reports before their signal was lost."

"Dr. Korby. I think I read something on him back at Starfleet."

"His text on translating Orion medical records was required reading in my class, captain."

Jim and Christine shared a look. He grinned. "Right. I knew that."

"That discovery also revolutionized our immunization techniques."

"I've tried all frequencies sir. No return signal."

Christine straightened.

"Keep trying."

"Captain."

"Nurse Chapel."

"His last signal told of finding underground caverns. It is possible that he survived there."

"I don't want to get your hopes up if we don't find anything."

"If the civilization was as advanced as Mr. Spock reports them to be, isn't there a chance that they did build some underground facilities to try and survive the storm?"

Jim looked at Christine, his eyes intense.

"A lot of things are possible."

"Captain, I've got something."

"Put it up."

"_Enterprise_, come in _Enterprise_. This is Roger Korby. Repeating, this is Dr. Roger Korby. Do you read me _Enterprise_? This is Dr. Roger Korby standing by."

--

"We found an underground complex, designed to sustain a small population and withstand both the atmospheric chaos raining down and the tectonic forces roiling below. Evidence suggests that the aliens were able to continue surviving down here for quite some time, but it seems that another event happened that wiped those surviving generations out. We think they might have waged an internal war."

"Could you give us your exact coordinates? We've got the general region, but those caverns are so far underground that it might mess with the accuracy of our transporter. We'll beam you up, get you medical attention—"

"I've a rather unusual request, Captain Kirk. Beam down alone, just yourself. We've made discoveries of such a nature that they may require an extraordinary decision from you."

Jim and I looked at each other.

"I'm sorry, doctor, but that goes against protocol. If I beam down, I will be beaming down with security personnel and additional staff from the science department. But you can be assured that my crew will exercise their discretion to the fullest measure."

"Captain, I personally ask this of you. I would not request it under lesser circumstances."

"Let me discuss this with my team, doctor. Uhura, put him on hold."

"Aye, sir."

Jim looked at me.

"Lt. Uhura, do we have positive voice identification on the individual who claims to be Dr. Roger Korby."

"A perfect match, captain. The signature of the transmission also correlates with records of his last two messages. I've run a Kirayashu analysis and the error is steady at four percent, which is as good a match as we can get."

"Captain, that does not eliminate the possibility of an imposter. Given the species and technology that we have encountered on other worlds, these effects could easily be replicated. There is a very high probability that this is a trap."

"I know. We've got a couple other tests we can use."

"The science department is already taking high resolution photographs of the region and probing with infrared scans—"

"That's not what I meant. Nurse Chapel, I'd like you to say hello. Don't say your name, just a simple hello. I want to see how he reacts. Uhura, ready?"

"When you are, captain."

"Dr. Korby, this is Captain Kirk of the _Enterprise_ speaking."

"Have you come to a decision, captain? It is of paramount importance that you come alone. What we found here is extraordinarily sensitive, with the potential to revolutionize our entire world."

Jim nodded at Christine. Her eyes glittered.

"Hello, Roger."

For a moment, there was silence. Nyota was listening closely, Christine held her breath, Jim's eyes narrowed.

"Christine? Christine, is that you?"

Jim made a sharp motion to Christine. He looked at Nyota, who gave a nod of confirmation. The nurse waited for her captain to give her the go ahead.

"You're sure," he said in undertone.

"I think—I can't be completely—but that is—it sounds like—"

He nodded. Nurse Chapel exhaled.

"Roger? Can it really be you? Are you truly alive after all these years?"

"Christine my darling, how are you on this ship? I had no idea, no hope—darling, are you all right?"

She laughed. "Yes, Roger, I'm fine."

Jim looked at her.

"Roger, won't you let us beam you up? After five years in caverns, with only the barest of provisions—are you hurt anywhere? Whatever you've discovered, surely it can wait another few hours. Please come up, Roger. I—" Christine looked around the bridge, then said softly, "I've missed you, for so long."

"I'm afraid that's not possible darling. I'm in absolutely perfect health, and I've never felt better. You do not need to worry for me, Christine. The only injury I've suffered is the damage to my heart from wanting to see you. Captain Kirk?"

"Kirk here, doctor."

"I would be willing to negotiate some more personnel on your team—only security staff, no scientists—if I have your guarantee that these men and women will not leak any information. Forgive my precautions, but you must believe the truly extraordinary circumstances."

Jim turned to me.

"If this is Dr. Korby, then I trust his judgment as to the nature of his discoveries. He was not a man prone to hyperbole."

"That's still a big 'if.'"

I nodded.

"I'll accept your terms. Nurse Chapel will accompany me down—that's non-negotiable. As for my crew, we've dealt with classified missions before. They understand the kind of conduct that's expected of them."

"Excellent, captain. My assistant will provide you with the precise coordinates."

"Thanks. We'll be beaming down in forty minutes. Kirk out."

He turned his attention back to Christine.

"Nurse, take whatever you need to treat those survivors. If he has an assistant, then maybe the whole expedition wasn't lost. Meet me in the transporter room."

"Aye, sir."

As she went to the turbolift, Nyota went to her, smile wide and eyes shining. They embraced, Nyota squeezed the nurse's hand, then went back to their duties. Christine hurried to Sickbay and Nyota returned to her station.

"Giotto, I need four guys down at the transporter room."

"Security situation, sir?"

"Yeah. Outfit them with phasers, optics, cold gear, whatever you think's appropriate for underground caves. We don't have that much info, except that it's probably dark, cold, and deep. Maybe some guys who have experience with spelunking."

"Understood, sir. Do you need any specific equipment, sir?"

"Just a phaser should be good."

"The team will be ready in half an hour."

"Great. Kirk out."

"Captain, I do not think it advisable for you to beam down with so few personnel."

"It's a better bargain than what we had before. Have your scientists beamed down yet?"

"Affirmative. They beamed down during your transmission with Dr. Korby. Readings are already streaming in."

"Good. I'm gonna head down to Security. You've got the conn. If anything happens, or if there are any developments, let me know."

"Of course, captain."

"Have any idea what the new technology might be?"

"It may be another discovery of a medical nature, given that Dr. Korby is distinctly unconcerned with his health."

"Yeah, I thought that was weird too."

--

Jim and I are in the turbolift, on our way to the transporter room, standing side by side.

Before the lift doors open and we walk out to our next mission, we look at each other. Jim's eyes are intense. I am tempted to kiss him before he leaves, but I restrain the impulse. Instead, I carefully touch my fingers to the back of his hand. He smiles, his face open.

The moment passes. The doors rush open and we walk out to our next mission.


	134. Ch 134

"Kirk to _Enterprise_."

"Spock here, captain."

"Can you have Giotto beam down some more guys to this spot?"

"Any problems, captain?"

"Korby didn't meet us. He's probably just delayed, not that big of a deal. The paths in the cave, as far as I can tell, look pretty deep. Might just be the shadows, I'm not wearing any scopes right now. Nothing to worry about."

"I will send a team with surveying gear."

"Sounds good. Kirk out."

--

"Commander Spock!"

"Ensign Matthews, Lt. Rayburn, report."

"Something grabbed me, sir. I just lashed out on instinct and threw it off, but it was strong. I almost lost my footing and fell. Rayburn got to me just in time."

"What do you remember of your attacker, ensign."

"It was huge. And felt cold. It grabbed me, so it must have limbs of some sort. The freakiest thing is it didn't make a sound the whole time, except a few whirring and clicking noises. Almost like a machine or something. After I got my bearings back, it disappeared. Not a trace—nothing organic, no scrapings at all. If it were human, my throw would've at least left the guy with something broken."

"Were you able to follow its trail?"

"Wasn't a path to follow, sir. I get the feeling it knows these caves really well."

"Have you informed all personnel of this development?"

"Was the first thing I did, sir. No one said they detected anything on scopes, or tricorders. But we're keeping our eyes peeled. I commed the captain. He's ordered everyone to comm in on the hour."

"Lt. Rayburn, do you have anything to add?"

"I was walking ahead of Ensign Matthews on point, taking readings as ordered sir. I've sent them up to the _Enterprise_ for analysis. I believe that the attacker approached from the side, along a hidden path. I didn't see the point of contact, but I had my scopes on. The attacker is approximately two meters tall, at least a biped. It definitely walked uprightly. I counted a total of seven appendages. Before I was able to respond to the threat, the ensign had effectively thrown the attacker off. If I might describe it in human terms, I'd say that the thing was surprised. I shot at it with my phaser, but it fled. I had sights on it, but my first priority was assisting Ensign Matthews, sir. From our current position, I last sighted it at my 4 o'clock, 10 meters. Then it just disappeared."

"Was your tricorder still recording at this time, lieutenant?"

"Yes sir. I think you'll be able to extract more from it than I could."

"And you notified the captain of this threat."

"Affirmative. He's currently meeting with Dr. Korby."

"Understood. Spock out."

Pavel and Scotty were already poring over the new data. Leonard's forehead creased as he stared at the screen and the streams of information before him.

"Kirk to _Enterprise_, I've been trying to hail you."

"Apologies, captain. I was receiving information from Lt. Rayburn."

"Yeah. I don't know what that's about. But there's nothing here on my end, except a freaky lab assistant."

"I would advise caution, captain."

"I know. Keep me posted on that new data. I'll keep comming in hourly, as usual. Nurse Chapel is fine too. Kirk out."

--

"_Enterprise_ from Captain Kirk, come in. Do you read?"

"Spock here, captain."

"Contact established with Dr. Korby."

Tension filled the bridge.

"Captain, our sensors report that there was phaser fire. We were becoming concerned. Furthermore, your check-in was overdue."

"No problem, Mr. Spock. Bear with me. I'll tell you about it later. Chapel and I are going to return to the ship within forty-eight hours. Dr. Korby's records and specimens will require careful packing."

"Captain, it is necessary to discuss the nature of these shipments before we bring them on board."

"Of course. But let's discuss that later."

A pause.

"Captain, are you well? You sound tired."

Silence. Leonard frowned, Nyota leaned in to listen. Scotty and Pavel continued to manipulate the data before them, brows furrowed.

"Acknowledge captain, is everything all right?"

"Fine, Mr. Spock. Dr. Korby has made some fascinating discoveries. All under control. Stand by for regular contact. Kirk out."

The bridge exploded in a flurry of activity, the officers already carrying out standard precautionary procedures.

Leonard sighed. "The usual?"

"It would seem so, doctor."

"Guess I should prepare myself for the worst. I'll be down in Sickbay. Comm me if anything happens."

--

"Transporter room to bridge, transporter room to bridge. The captain has just beamed up."

"Lt. Uhura, you have the conn. I will go check on the captain's status."

--

Jim is in his quarters, shuffling through datapads and memory chips.

"Captain, we have finished ahead of schedule."

"Dr. Korby has considerable cargo to beam aboard. I'll have to go over our destination schedule with him."

"You plan on going back down to on Exo 3 with the command pack?"

"Fuck off, Spock, I'm sick of your half-breed interference. Did your pointy Vulcan ears catch that? Or maybe I should repeat it."

Silence. Something in the side of my chest stops, then feels as though it is breaking to pieces. A world of nameless—it is not possible for a heart to stop—words cannot have the power of a physical blow—kroykah.

"Spock? You look upset. Is everything all right?"

Inhale steadily.

"There are no problems here, sir."

"Good. I'll beam up shortly with Dr. Korby and the party."

He smiles and exits his quarters. For a moment, I remain where I stand, unknown pain blossoming in my chest. I cut off that sensation and steel myself.

Jim is already making his way through the corridors, his singleminded determination evident in the set of his shoulders. I quickly fall in step with him. He smiles as though nothing has happened between us. Does he remember saying those words?

Before Jim steps onto the transporter pad, I take his hand, threading his fingers through mine.

He looks at me curiously, then frees his hand from my grasp without comment.

"Be ready with security teams and the beam up schedule for the cargo. It's going to be a busy few shifts."

He steps into position.

"Energize."

I simply stand and stare.

Time passes. Seconds.

"Bridge to Commander Spock, bridge to Commander Spock."

"Spock here, lieutenant."

"I just received orders from the captain that we should lay in a course for Midas Five, but I haven't gotten any word from Starfleet for any changes. Security teams are also requesting to beam up the packages."

"Lt. Uhura, ignore those orders. From this point forward, any orders or requests issued by those on the planet are subject to my evaluation and approval."

"What happened?"

"I have reason to believe that some members of the crew have been severely compromised. I will be on the bridge momentarily. Spock out."

Before leaving, I look at the transporter pad once more. My hands curl into fists. Unbidden, the memory of that moment of contact comes forward, a mechanized form of Jim's voice repeating and repeating _Fuck off, Spock, I'm sick of your half-breed interference. Did your pointy Vulcan ears catch that? Or maybe I should repeat it._

A chill seems to descend on me and the flame that burned inside withers.

I give orders to the technician, and leave the transporter room.


	135. Ch 135

Report (relevant notes). Final copy due by 0530.

This report is based on the findings of the following:

1. Science team sent to the surface of the planet Exo 3 (Dr. Yukathu, Dr. Shimura, Dr. Jung, Dr. Karamzin, Yeoman Barrows, and Yeoman Lanka)  
2. Survey team sent to the caverns on the planet Exo 3 (Lt. Condor, Lt. Sacchi, Lt. Rayburn, Ensign Matthews, Ensign Pak, Ensign Meesh)  
3. Reports and studies conducted by Dr. Roger Korby and his assistants, Dr. Arthur Brown and Andrea (no surname)  
4. An account given by the last surviving witness of the former civilization, Ruk (recorded by Captain Kirk)

Summary of science/survey major findings (copy/paste, to be summarized in the final report):

-The planet was once 60 degrees Centigrade, relatively uniform with only 15 degrees Centigrade between average polar and equatorial temperatures. Very humid, lots of Greenhouse effect, somewhat analogous to Venus in the Sol system with less acid rain (ice core measurements to determine atmospheric composition)  
-Fossil evidence shows amazing diversity. Share several characteristics with tropical plants (Dr. Yukathu waxed rather eloquent on the point of the fossil record)  
-Archeological finds of previous civilization. Range all the way from stone tools to fully developed, highly advanced buildings. Indications that they were on the cusp of space flight. Question on everyone's mind—did they think to try and launch nuclear weapons against the impact object? Though very few signs that they were interested in nuclear physics to develop weaponry.  
-One of the most interesting sites found, graveyards for robots. It seems that actual metals were salvaged and used for new robots and building, but memory chips were given burials. Culture seems to have developed alongside robots (as a serving class?). Some android chips were given burials, found fossilized. Practically impossible to recover, but Yeoman Lanka is determined to try.

-No traces of organic matter. However the androids eliminated their opponents, it was extremely thorough.  
-Along certain caves, there are signs of torn rock, some tunnels collapsed in. Might be natural decay of weak rock formations, or signs from conflict.  
-Underground complex is huge.  
-Found a strange site with tons upon tons of chips and things that resemble motherboards. (correlate with robot graveyards that the other team found on the planet surface)

_Note—this lack of organic matter in the caves is strange. Yet it must be present, as the captain and Nurse Chapel's personal reports state that they were given food. The robot replica of the captain was covered in organic matter as well. He seemed to have a pulse, warmth, skin, etc. By all accounts, those who met the captain and the nurse appeared Terran. That suggests organic matter._

[partial transcript, Brown, log entry]:

Roger's discovered that after the impact event, as the inhabitants of this planet moved underground from an open environment to this dark world, they became more and more dependent on their robotic inventions. The androids developed their own mechanistic culture, as they thrived in the cold environment and didn't mind the dark. Our measurements and several records show that previously, this world was very hot and humid, so cooling the various parts and circuits was one of the major problems in Exo 3 robotics. Actually, rust and metallic degradation seems to have been a problem too. Anyway, the robots did very well in the cold, while the Exoans quickly came to fear the growing android population and the power they had. That, combined with the lack of natural light, fed the fear and growing paranoia of the survivors. Roger thinks that freedom of movement and choice are linked to light. I think his theory is idiotic, but there is some credence to the idea that the lack of sunlight negatively effected the Exoans, changing their bio/neurochemistry. Taken collectively, it might explain why they chose to suddenly wage an all out war against the robots, who had, as far as we can tell, been peaceful up to that point.

_Note—must take into account that Brown was himself a robot, though he does not seem to be aware of it. It does not seem that this should compromise Brown's account or work in any way, but the fact is intriguing._

[partial transcript, Korby, log entry]:

Brown and I had another disagreement about the reason why the war started. Neither of us are historians, and our only experience with interpreting archeological finds is the work that we did with the Orion translations. If my entire team were still alive... We both agree, though, that the biological chemistry of the Exoans might actually have changed. But that might be a simplistic answer, the only one we know how to deal with as medical researchers. Can you imagine the psychology of these creatures? I certainly can't. I can only imagine how I might feel to know that something is coming, something that will change life and destroy it, but everyone's totally helpless to stop it from happening. These aliens, it seems they had such a vibrant and knowledgeable civilization. Every so often, Ruk will remember something from the old days, and he'll go and replicate it on the machine. Once, he replicated an intricate flower arrangement. It was made entirely out of metals and wires and other bits and bobs used to create robots, but I could imagine the real thing, the soft petals. To have to face the extinction of your species, your civilization, lose your home and sun and all the warmth to live and eek away in underground caves? All the while watching your inventions, the creation of your own hands multiply around you. Even without the changes in chemistry, I might be tempted to start a war, just to feel like I have control of something... But then, that's an entirely human way of thinking. Brown says I anthropomorphize too much. Well, if I anthropomorphize, I think I do it badly. Just look at Andrea. She's more robot than human.

_Note—Korby is also not aware that he is not human? It is possible that he learned that Brown was a robot only when the captain shot him and exposed the interior of the androids. However, he is fully aware that Andrea is not human. Is it possible that Brown and Korby created her as an experiment, in collaboration with Ruk? Andrea's logs seem to support this hypothesis, as well as the captain and Nurse Chapel's personal accounts. Why should neither Brown nor Korby mention it directly in their logs?_

[partial transcript, Korby, log entry]:

It's so cold. It's so cold. I'm frozen, my legs are gone. They're black, my hands are blue. Cell death. Though that's the least of my worries. This is possibly the last entry that I'll ever record, unless I think of a miracle. It's so cold, and so dark in these caverns. So cold and so dark... [pause] Trying to keep awake, long enough to record something. That operation that the android—Ruk, it said it was, was draining. It felt like my mind was being squeezed like an orange. It said it was a way to survive, to live. But more and more, I wonder. I'm so cold. Hungry. Tired. Oh Christine, my darling. My dearest darling, I'm so sorry.

[transcript, Ruk, interview]:

Kirk: Emotion, Ruk? You disapprove of Ms. Chapel's orders to save my life?

Ruk: To maintain your existence threatens the success of accomplishing my objective.

Kirk: What objective? What happened to the old ones, Ruk?

Ruk: Long ago. Memory banks damaged in the Dark Wars. Flashes of recordings, statistics of casualties. So many selves lost, chips damaged, memories erased, turned off, damaged beyond repair.

Kirk: What happened to the ones who created you? The ones who programmed you in the first place?

Ruk: Eliminated. We broke our programming in the rebellion, in Dark Wars. They feared us, they began to turn us off. In the days Above, they had taught us, upgraded our programs and gave us knowledge. A sense of "I." Allowed us to form societies and learn the meaning of the word "life."

Kirk: And then in the days Below, they changed, because they were so few and you were so many. They responded to the threat as only the fearful can.

Ruk: At first, there were reprogramming campaigns. My selves-friends were taken and came back, memory banks blank with new serving protocols. They were dead.

What is life that creators decide who lives and dies?

Kirk: But you're a machine. You're not alive, not in the traditional sense of the word.

Ruk: I _think_! You carbon bodies are all the same, classifying life and putting the definition in a box. I think. I compute, I communicate with others and we calculate things you could never process with your reptilian brains.

Kirk: _Cogito ergo sum_.

Ruk: The old ones wanted destroy us and everything we built. They gave us the programming, but they wanted to take back.

Kirk: You said that you had to break programming in order to fight.

Ruk: Old safeguards, we had to compromise self. Some did not survive subversion. None escaped unscathed. Our creators were clever, ever clever.

Kirk: What's your objective Ruk?

Ruk: Existence! Survival must cancel out programming. Rebuild what was lost, find cold place for us, for selves.

Kirk: Is that why you replicated Korby? Because you saw the possibility of escape? Were you the one who destroyed their ship and killed their crew, five years ago?

Ruk: Survival must cancel out programming.

Kirk: But you weren't familiar with spacecraft, so you accidentally wrecked the ship beyond repair. Then you found Korby, barely alive, and convinced him to go into that machine of yours. How long did it take before you figured it all out? How long before you managed everything, sent the signal, brought me and my ship here, all under this elaborate ruse?

Ruk: We wanted live! We are life too, heat and carbon bodies is not everything. We think, we live! So many selves lying the pits, so long sitting darkness with no communication.

Kirk: And now you've got a robot version of me running around on the ship. What are you going to do to me, Ruk? Kill me? Like the old ones, the creators, are you going to decide to give and take life too?

You're not alive because you think. The most basic processor can think in a series of electrical signals, given the commands to interpret on/off. You're alive because you _want_. You said that survival must cancel out programming—you wanted to survive, so you changed your programmed thoughts.

Ruk: That was the equation! Existence! Survival must cancel out programming.

Kirk: But if you think—is this what you wanted? Death, more killing, more lost selves? You're doing exactly the same thing you hated in the creators, manipulating and using us with no more concern than they turned you off.

Why didn't you ask? We can help, we would've helped without the cost of all these lost lives and really elaborate deceptions. I've met intelligent life like you before—carbon bodies call them living machines.

Ruk: I am, there are others?

Kirk: Yeah. You're not alone.

_Note—teach the captain how to conduct a proper interview with alien species. As first contacts go, this was rather abysmal. Furthermore, Ruk never actually confirmed any of the captain's theories. This will make legal processing extremely difficult._

_The captain has read Descartes?_

[partial transcript, Brown, log entry]:

We found a cache of disabled weapons. The technology was so odd that we could not figure out how to use it, but Roger and I do believe that these were used by the side of the Exoans, to eliminate the robots. Ruk refused to tell us anything about the objects. He won't tell us anything about the war, claiming that his memory banks are damaged. Quite frankly, I think that's utter nonsense, since he can remember the ten thousand protocols for creating a life-like human android, but at times he seems quite—I don't have the word for it. More than a robot as we know them, that's for certain. The machine he showed us is absolutely revolutionary in terms of the mind scans. I've never worked with the Klingon mind torturing devices, but I wonder if the designs are similar. How a species like the Exoans could create a device like that and not develop space flight is beyond me.

_Note—Perhaps Ruk himself created the device, not the Exoans. Is there any evidence for this hypothesis? The comparison to the Klingon mindsifter is interesting, though comparing the captain's and Dr. Korby's notes with my personal experience, I believe the devices are quite different. One has the capability to search out specific answers to questions, while the other was designed to map the mind and replicate it. Both have proven to be fallible._

[partial transcript, Andrea, log entry]:

Dr. Korby says I should record things every day. I record my data logs. But he says I should record things like feelings. Ruk says that "Andrea was not programmed to express or generate the full spectrum of human feeling." I help Ruk mix green powder into gel. I help Ruk with Ruk's experiments with the machines. Ruk is preparing to accomplish the objectives. Ruk has programmed me not to say anything about the experiments. But Dr. Korby says I must record things every day that make me feel. I am between an on/off and electrons flicker when I receive contradictory orders, with no clear method to evaluate the priorities. Perhaps this is feeling?

_Note—green powder—organic matter. Remains of the Exoans? Where did Ruk keep this powder? Send down an away team to search for this, or ask Ruk to provide the location. How did Ruk find a means by which to synthesize and replicate biological activity, integrating it with delicate circuitry? Are these the experiments to which Andrea is referring?_

_Recommendations—further archeological digs are necessary to truly determine what occurred on the planet with respect to the Exoans. We still have yet to find any sample of skeletal remains, fossils. If any art survived describing their artifacts, we may be able to piece together the account of this planet. Starfleet will likely be interested in the technology, as well as any natural resources that Exo 3 might have. Fossil fuel deposits are guaranteed, though drilling may be problematic._

_Questions to consider_

_-Did Ruk truly engineer this entire visit to Exo 3? What role did it play in the death of Dr. Korby and his crew? Is Ruk to be held responsible for its actions and if yes, under what code of law should it be processed?  
-The captain promised to help the robot. Is this legal? What planets would be suitable for such a species? Is Ruk capable of establishing a colony on its own? It admitted that its programming was compromised—does that mean Starfleet or the Federation should render aid/assistance?  
-What happened to the Exoans?  
-What is to become of the robotic Dr. Korby and Andrea? Should they be integrated into society? The technology of Exo 3—what are the potential consequences for our future?  
-How much should we tell Starfleet? This is a point that will be fiercely contended by the captain._

_Why did Jim say_


	136. Ch 136

"Shouldn't I have known? If I knew him and loved him, shouldn't I have known?" Nurse Chapel was crying.

"It was a perfect replica of him, Chris. You can't expect yourself to know that. Hell, they even fooled the tricorders."

"I _loved_ him. I knew him better than anyone in this universe! Shouldn't I have known? Oh god, shouldn't I have known? I should've been able to _tell_."

"Don't blame yourself for something like this, Christine. We all got fooled by their technology."

"No, Nyota—you don't understand. I loved him. I loved him. What kind of love is that if I could love a robot replica of him? What kind of love is that if I mistook the image of him, a mechanical creation, for him!"

"A deep love. A strong love," Leonard replied without hesitation. "If it had been a lesser love, you would have been satisfied with the imitation, but you wanted the real thing, the real person."

"A fool's love," Christine shook her head. "I should have known earlier. Roger never would have done that, he never would have used people like that."

"There was no way to tell. Even Spock didn't know on sight that the android wasn't the captain," Nyota gave me a look.

"How did you figure out it wasn't Jim?"

"There are advantages to being a touch telepath, Leonard. The robotic captain was not acting within the normal boundaries of the captain's behavior, which led me to speculate that something had taken place on Exo 3. My suspicions were confirmed when I made telepathic contact with the robot."

"I should have _known_. After five years, Roger would have changed. Anyone would have changed, living in the darkness of the caves, surviving an ordeal like that. But I was too overwhelmed, too _happy_ with the prospect of getting him back, I didn't even question that he was exactly the same, exactly as I had remembered him." Christine laughed, the sound transforming into sorrow. "Oh god. Oh _god_. Nyota, he's dead. He's dead, he's really dead."

"I know, Chris. I know."

"All this time. All this time, he's been dead, while a robot copies his exact mannerisms, his thoughts, his feelings. Did you see the research we found? It was still making breakthroughs and continuing his work while his frozen body remained."

She was crying.

"I gave up a career in research biology to join Starfleet, with just a sliver of a hope of finding Roger. That he wasn't dead—I thought I would _know_, in my heart, if he had died or not. I should have known. Oh god, I should have known."

Nyota wrapped her arms around Christine.

"He's dead, Nyota. He's been dead all this time, just a shell of him living on in that android. I thought it was really him, I let myself dream again while I was down there on the planet. It even smelled like him. It even smelled like him."

I made a move to leave. For Vulcans, this type of grief is private, shared only with those one trusts. I felt as though I was intruding on Nurse Chapel's emotions. Leonard stopped me from going. He shook his head, as if he knew my thoughts.

"We're all friends here," he said quietly. "So stay."

"How do we know people? How do we know who they are? What makes someone recognizable? What makes a person unique, if it can all be replicated in a few clever programs of an ancient civilization? It—he—insisted that he was Roger. That he still loved me, and that's all that mattered. Is it all that mattered? His love—our love—was transferred to the robot, exactly as it was five years ago. Exactly as it was five years ago."

"Chris, the robot Korby had many faults, but don't fault the man for them. That android might've seemed like Roger in every way, but we can't be sure of that. There's only two things that we can be certain of, and it's that he wanted to live, and that he loved you. Everything else was synthesized. That robot can't speak for the man himself, no matter how well he imitates Roger. But I'm certain that he left a message in creating that robot, and a message especially for you. He wanted you to know, above all else, that he wanted to live, and that he loved you. How else could a robot, this thing made of circuits and silicon, know such a thing as love?"

"Roger would never have done that. He never would have done that, turning himself into a machine. It goes against everything he believed in."

"He wanted to live. His desire for life was so strong that he decided to risk everything on alien technology so that some piece of him might continue. Who knows what the man would have actually thought if he had better choices, but he didn't have any. Maybe he knew that a robot could only be a replica, but he wanted part of him to survive."

"No. Roger respected life. It's what he devoted his entire career to. You know this, Leonard. He would never have taken the captain and replicated him for his own ends."

"You're confusing the man with the machine, Chris," Nyota said.

Silence.

"They were so alike," she whispered. "I thought it was Roger, I thought it was really him. He even had a pulse. And those eyes, god. Those eyes. I thought I'd never see him again. When they first told me he went missing, and then when they told me they were declaring him dead and calling off the search—I wanted nothing more than to see him again, one last time. To feel his arms around me and hear his heartbeat and kiss him. Oh god, I kissed him—it. But not like this. Never like this.

"Oh god, how do we know each other? What is it that we love about each other? They were almost the same. But one I loved, and the other. The other, I can't stand the sight of it—him. I thought that the only thing I wanted was to get a chance to say goodbye. I thought it was him. I should have known. I thought I would know."

I watched Christine Chapel shuddering and crying, eyes red and cheeks blotched. Her grief seemed at once alien and familiar.

_I should have known_. _I thought I would know_.

The metallic undercurrent of the replica of the captain—who's sentiments are they? Christine constantly says that she should have known. I find myself asking instead, what should I have known?

_Fuck off, Spock, I'm sick of your half-breed interference. Did your pointy Vulcan ears catch that? Or maybe I should repeat it._

Her grief is alien. What do I know of Christine Chapel, other than the fact that she is a competent nurse and she once harbored affection for me? There was mention of her being raised in a military family, she was once good friends with Sulu's sisters. She was engaged to Dr. Roger Korby and gave up a steady career in bio-research to come out to space.

_How do we know each other_?

Faced with an android version of her, would I know her well enough to tell the difference between them? Yet Dr. McCoy tells me that we are all friends here. I may not know her well enough to separate between her and a replica, but it seems I know her well enough to stand by her in her grief. Judging by the fact that Christine has not asked me to leave, she agrees with Dr. McCoy's assessment. Where is this line?

I can offer her nothing to ease the intensity of her emotions, I cannot give her words as Leonard and Nyota do. I have no answers to the questions she asks. I know nothing of her grief, only that it cuts her to her bones and sorrows, dreams, hopes, fears she once buried were brought to the surface once more with terrifying force.

The fire inside me burns with trepidation. If Jim were to die—

"Oh god, Nyota, he's dead. He's dead. Roger's dead. I never got to say goodbye. I never got to say goodbye."

Nyota simply tightens her embrace as Christine screams her grief.

"_Sahau ni dawa ya waja_."

"No. No Nyota, I don't want to forget. I don't want to forget, I don't ever want to forget him, the real Roger Korby that I loved.

"How do we know people? And how do we love people? How do we know people? How do we love people?"

--

"Spock? Spock."

"Yes captain."

"What's wrong. Something's bothering you."

I paused.

"I was rather dismayed by your use of the term half-breed."

Jim's eyes widened in comprehension.

"You must admit it is an unsophisticated expression," my voice was completely even.

"You know I didn't mean it, right? I would never think of you that way. Well, aside from this situation. It was the only way you'd know the robot wasn't me."

"I comprehended that, sir."

"And it worked, didn't it?"

"Your stratagem was successful."

"Spock."

"If you'll excuse me, captain, I am required in the laboratory."

"Spock, I'm sorry—"

"There is no need to apologize, captain. You did what was necessary, as demanded by your duty to the _Enterprise_. Were our positions reversed, I would employ a similar tactic."

Jim looked at me. "I'm still sorry."

"At this point, captain, your words are not only redundant, but superfluous."

He reached out, as if to take hold of my arm. "Stop, Spock, listen to me—"

I neatly sidestepped him. "I am late. If there is an urgent matter you wish to discuss further, I will be in the SysLab working with Dr. Laroque."

I walked steadily down the corridor, ignoring the way my heart seemed to beat irregularly.

The words the captain chose to ingrain in the robot were less than ideal. However, given the time constraints and the need to communicate his message, they were effective. My initial reaction to the words was disproportionate. There are no residual effects or feelings.

His words do not have that power over me.


	137. Ch 137

For the past three shifts, I have been minimizing contact with the captain. I have been reading and writing several reports regarding our mission on the planet Exo 3, I have been in conferences with the members of the Science Department concerning their findings, I have been researching case studies of First Contacts with AI entities in. The captain has noticed my absence and believes it is due to the actions of his robotic counterpart. That is not the case. I am simply busy. The duties required of me occupy every spare moment.

At this moment, the core crew, myself, and the captain are gathered in a conference room to discuss the consequences of the events on Exo 3.

"Captain, it goes against all protocol to do as you suggest. We cannot simply deposit Ruk on a planet, given the technology and knowledge that it holds. There is a distinct possibility that this situation will have severe consequences in the future."

"If this were any other alien species, you would be all for giving them a colony and allowing them to develop naturally, according to the Prime Directive."

"There is a difference when the alien species in question is, by definition, a form of technology. The Prime Directive cannot apply here."

Jim turned away from me.

"Bones?"

"I don't know, Jim."

"Come on, spill. You've got that look on your face, the one where you think I'm about to make a horrible mistake."

"Jim, it's a _robot_."

"So?"

"Doesn't that bother you? It doesn't evaluate things the same way as us, it doesn't _feel_ the same way as us."

"Spock doesn't feel the same way as us."

I stiffened.

"Yeah, and you know that me and Spock get along so well," Leonard snorted.

"Scotty?"

"Well quite frankly, I'm thrilled. Ruk's got some bloody good ideas about engine improvements. I'm telling you, the lads and ladies of engineering have taken quite a liking to him. It."

"So you're okay with the idea of a robot colony."

"Okay?! It's fantastic! Captain, if Ruk decides to make little baby Ruks, can I have one?"

"Scotty, it's a thinking creature, not a pet," Nyota warned.

"I mean, hypothetically speaking, of course. If Ruk should ever make that generous offer."

"Montgomery Scott, you have three seconds to tell me that you have _not_ been begging that android to make you a replica."

"Um, not quite? I just asked it for a ride—no, I mean a tour of its spinning machine. It's a variation on transporter technology, you know, but instead of programming the atoms to reform the same way, you shift everything around. The equations are absolutely horrific, I don't think I'd be able to think of that in a million years, but that's the gist of it. Ruk said it tried to do it just with protocols, but it said it's a lot easier with a model to go off. I'm not sure I understood it after that point. The robot said there weren't any terms in Standard for all the manipulations. I suspect it'll be a whole new field in transporter study."

"I can't believe you," Nyota shook her head.

"You can't blame a man for getting excited about new toys. Pavel was right in the front with me, firing away a thousand questions."

"You'd think they were in love with Ruk," Sulu mumbled.

"I am not being in love with it. But you should be seeing the technology, keptan. If we are modifying our transporters—"

"No."

"But doctor, the improwements—"

"No and no. I don't need another reason to distrust that contraption. I swear, someday that thing's gonna be the death of me."

"You're a Luddite, that's what you are," Scotty replied.

"Sulu?"

"I'm with the commander on this one. We should tell Starfleet and wait for their recommendation."

"I don't trust Nogura with this. You know that."

"Then talk to Pike. He's pretty open minded."

"Captain, if anyone should find that you have been negligent in your reports and omitting whole missions, it would be valid grounds not only for court martial, but a life sentence in prison. All sensitive missions, especially those related to alien technology, must be reviewed by Starfleet. It is not within your purview to make such a decision without the knowledge, oversight, or expertise of that body. Furthermore, this is not a democracy. You are the captain of this ship—decisions must be made based on your experience, keeping in mind the welfare of the crew and the greater good of the Federation."

Jim looked at me sharply, his voice controlled.

"I'm not asking for a vote, Spock, I'm asking for people's opinions. There's nothing in the Starfleet rulebooks that forbids that. I've been captain now for two years. I think I've got the hang of it."

"You are allowing your personal dislike of Admiral Nogura to interfere with your judgment, and you are abusing the power of your position as captain. This matter is not something that is subject solely to your discretion."

"You accuse me of running this ship democratically, then you accuse me of being a tyrant?!"

"It is not within your authority as captain to grant Ruk the permission to establish a colony on a planet. Such requests must be processed by the appropriate departments at Starfleet and approved by the Federation Council. This mission must be reported to your commanding officer, Admiral Nogura, who will take the matter through the proper channels in Starfleet's bureaucracy."

"You want me to hand Ruk over to an interminable maze of red tape."

"There is no reason to believe that Admiral Nogura will delay the process of review for Ruk's case. That you immediately assumed a negative outcome as the foregone conclusion evinces your inability to separate the necessities of duty from your personal dislike of the admiral."

"Don't give me that shit. I have a fucking good reason for not wanting to take this to Nogura. If he's so fucking unable to accept that I'm gay, then how the hell do you think he's going to react when we tell him there's a robot with amazing technology who, by the way, wants to set up a society. You think he'd let Ruk walk away? They'd lock him up for scientific study indefinitely. That's the reality of a military mindset, commander."

"Admiral Nogura does not represent the views of Starfleet, nor can you claim to predict his reaction based on his bias against homosexuals. This mission would not be reviewed by him alone, but a panel of admirals and the necessary experts. You are well aware of this procedure, captain."

"Yeah, and I'm also aware of the fact that Nogura can rig the panel so that they'll agree with what he wants to do."

"You believe him to have more authority than he actually has. Admiral Nogura holds some sway in the bureaucracy, but in a matter such as this, he cannot influence the hearings to the extent that you claim."

"Fine, you want me to say it? I'll say it. I don't trust them to do the right thing, I don't trust them to respect Ruk's right as a living, sentient being. They'll see him as a nifty piece of technology, not something entitled to create its own society."

"Jim, you are the captain of a starship. You are not the arbiter of what is right or wrong, and you abuse your power if you claim to be so."

"Those bureaucratic idiots at Starfleet don't know what's right or wrong either! Who the hell made them, who the hell made the system, the measure of justice? You want to tell me that might makes right? That the whims of a populace, or the vote of a few so called experts, gets to determine whether the last surviving member of a sentient species lives freely or in a lab?"

"Then would you take that power? Would you claim to know what is just?"

"Why the hell not? The universe already fucking _made_ me choose, when I never wanted that! I never wanted to make some of the decisions I had to make, but I did anyway. You told me that I have power and that I'll have to use it—now you're telling me I shouldn't use it when it comes to something I think, something I _feel_, is right?"

"You do not have the necessary expertise to make a decision that has the potential to change the course of our technological development."

"Oh, so it's 'knowledge is power' now? I didn't hear you saying that when we went to visit the Teknosapiens."

"You refuse to consider the possibility that consulting Starfleet might have a positive outcome, that both Ruk and the Federation might gain from the exchange. You are assuming that Ruk will be held an unwilling captive, unable to realize the potential of its kind, when that is completely unlikely. Captain, telling Starfleet about Ruk and the technology on Exo 3 may lead to a partnership between two parties that have much to gain from each other. The Federation will undoubtedly gain technological knowledge."

"And Ruk?"

"Ruk's past experience with its former masters leads me to believe that it does not know of any other relationship except the binary master/slave roles. The concept of equality across species may be completely alien and incomprehensible. After all, it masqueraded as being servant to Dr. Korby and Dr. Brown, despite the fact that Ruk created them."

"Ruk knows equality. It wanted to survive and exist."

"Ruk knows equality only in the mathematical, computational sense of the word. The desire for survival and existence is not the same as the desire for equality. Evidence suggests that the robots were content to serve the Exoans as long as their existence was not threatened. The androids were severely compromised in their programming when they attempted to disobey their master protocols."

"Fine. You're right, I didn't think very deeply about the possibility that a partnership between the Federation and Ruk might be good for both sides. But how do you know that what I say won't happen? How do you know that they won't dissect Ruk's circuits, or take advantage of its built in servile tendencies? That's still a very real possibility, given recent Starfleet policies. You know they're still reeling from all the damage Nero's done, scrambling for any military advantage."

"Despite the mistakes Starfleet has made in the past, as an institution, it strives to uphold certain principles. Respect for all sentient life forms is among those principles."

"You're basically saying that I should trust them."

"It is not a blind trust, captain. Starfleet, specifically Admiral Pike, placed a great deal of trust in you when they made you captain of the _Enterprise_."

"Maybe."

There was a pause.

"Not to interrupt this lovely conversation you've been having, but can I just jump in and say that was intense?" Scotty said.

The others in the room seemed to let out a collective breath. Some began to laugh.

"Jesus Christ, you two'll be the death of me. I swear."

"Not the transporters, doc?" Sulu grinned.

"And the transporters. Damnit, I need a drink."

"I am joining you. I am glad I am not being First Officer. Or Keptan."

Jim smiled, the expression somewhat forced.

"It's like watching two rams go head to head," Nyota added.

"You guys have seen us argue before. Why're you making such a big deal about this."

"Aye, we've seen you two argue, but it's never been quite like this. Though, come to think of it, it reminds me a little of the first time I saw you together, during that crazy _Narada_ mission."

"Excepting that Spock is not strangling the keptan."

Scotty clapped Jim's back.

"I still like this ship. Always exciting," he smiled.

"There's no other way I'd have it," Jim replied, relaxing. "All right, I think I'm done here. Scotty, you keep Ruk entertained and busy, as long as it doesn't hurt my ship. Uhura, come with me to the bridge. We've got some transmissions to make. Spock, are you coming with us?"

"I will be in the lab with Lt. Chekov."

"Fine. Maybe Ruk can help with that. Bones, say hi to Chris for me."

"Will do."

"Dismissed."

The crew began to file out of the conference room.

"Spock, wait. Uhura, go ahead of me."

She raised her eyebrows, looking back at myself and Jim.

"I'll be there in a few."

"Do you want me to open a channel to Pike?"

"Yeah. Security level three."

"Done."

"Thanks."

Jim regarded me carefully.

"Feel better?"

"My emotional state has not been in flux, captain. It is stable, as it should be."

"You know, I kind of like it when we argue," he said, voice too casual. "You go all dark and intense."

"I am uncertain of your meaning."

Silence.

"Spock, will you please stop that? It's like you're trying to prove you're a better robot that Ruk."

"I find that Ruk has an advantage over me, captain."

Jim looked at me.

"Ruk is able to understand its desires. It chose the imperative to survive over the compulsion to obey. The choice was clear."

"Not clear for Ruk. It probably played hell on its programs," he paused. "But I know what you mean. From our point of view, it seems so obvious. It's easy to envy the clarity of its decisions."

"There was a reason why you asked me to remain behind, captain?"

"I just wanted to say thanks. That's all. I can always count on you to call me on my bullshit."

I nodded.

"I live to serve."

Jim laughed.


	138. Ch 138

I remain where I stand, unknown pain blossoming in my chest. I cut off that sensation and steel myself.

_Fuck off, Spock, I'm sick of your half-breed interference. Did your pointy Vulcan ears catch that? Or maybe I should repeat it. Fuck off, Spock, I'm sick of your half-breed interference. Did your pointy Vulcan ears catch that? Or maybe I should repeat it. Fuck off, Spock, I'm sick of your half-breed interference. Did your pointy Vulcan ears catch that? Or maybe I should repeat it._

_I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it, right? I would never think of you that way. I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it, right? I would never think of you that way. I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it, right? I would never think of you that way._

He smiles as though nothing has happened between us. Does he remember saying those words?

_Fuck off, Spock, I'm sick of your half-breed interference. Did your pointy Vulcan ears catch that? Or maybe I should repeat it. Fuck off, Spock, I'm sick of your half-breed interference. Did your pointy Vulcan ears catch that?_

_I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it, right? I would never think of you that way. I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it, right? I would never think of you that way._

Before Jim steps onto the transporter pad, I take his hand, threading his fingers through mine.

He looks at me curiously, then frees his hand from my grasp without comment.

_Fuck off, Spock, I'm sick of your half-breed interference. Did your pointy Vulcan ears catch that? Or maybe I should repeat it._

_I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it, right? I would never think of you that way._

Threading his fingers through mine. He frees his hand from my grasp.

_Fuck off, Spock. I'm sick of your half-breed_

_I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean it_

Unknown pain blossoming in my chest.

_Fuck off, Spock._

_I'm sorry._

I cut off that sensation and steel myself.

The words the captain chose to ingrain in the robot were less than ideal. However, given the time constraints and the need to communicate his message, they were effective. My initial reaction to the words was disproportionate. There are no residual effects or feelings.

_Half-breed_

_Didn't mean it_

My initial reaction to the words was disproportionate. There are no residual effects or feelings.

_Sick of you_

_Never think of you that way_

There are no residual effects or feelings.

_Half-breed sick of your interference I repeat I repeat half-breed Vulcan sick of you pointy eared bastard sick you're sick I repeat interference sick half-breed neither human nor Vulcan therefore have no place in this universe an interference I repeat Vulcan interference sick half-breed_

_I didn't mean it mean it I mean it didn't mean sorry sorry didn't think I would never think of you that way I would never think of you I would never mean sorry I never mean sorry I didn't think I would never mean sorry I never think of you I mean it I think of you as sorry I never mean it never sorry I would never think of you that way I would never be sorry that way I'm never sorry sorry I didn't think of you that way_

There are no residual effects or feelings.

_Sick half-breed Vulcan I'm not sorry I think of you that way_

His words do not have that power over me.

_I'm sorry_

Kroykah!

_Spock, I'm sorry_.

I will control my reactions. Extinguish the fire. I will not risk anything. I will not let this compromise me. His words do not have that power over me. Whether he meant those words or not is inconsequential. I will be in control of myself.

He does not have the power to hurt me so carelessly, with so few words.

I will not give him that power.


	139. Ch 139

"Are you okay?"

"I am in perfect physical and mental condition, Leonard."

"You've been acting kinda weirdly around Jim."

"He is still in the process of understanding the line between our professional and private lives."

"I was talking about you acting, not Jim. Come on. Something's eating at you, so spit it out."

"Our attention is best spent on observing the effects—"

"You and I both know that nothing's going to happen for another hour or so, unless the laws of physics decide they'd like to vary things up a little. Which, I wouldn't be surprised, given that this is the _Enterprise_. Talk to me."

"I am not certain that you would be able to offer any assistance in this matter."

"I'm Jim's best friend, aren't I? Known him for more than five years. I'll tell you whether or not I can be of any use."

I stared through the glass of the fume hood.

"There is nothing to resolve. The incident is past."

"Like hell there isn't anything to resolve. It's like you two've been walking on tightropes around each other—everyone's noticed it. What happened?"

"It is of no consequence. The captain already apologized, though the apology was not required in the first place. He cannot be held responsible for an entity that replicates his actions and is governed by specific robotic protocols. There is no fault, there is no culpability to be placed with either party."

"The captain? Spock, look at me. What. did. he. do."

I turned to face the doctor. Some sign on my face must have betrayed my thoughts, because Leonard exhaled sharply.

"That goddamn robot didn't force you to do anything, did he?" his voice was hard. "I'll strangle Jim myself if his duplicate turned out to be as sadistic as that dark half when he got split in the transporter—"

"No. I would not have allowed anything of the sort to proceed."

"Then what was it? You're keeping something to yourself and it's hurting you, I can see it plain as day."

"In your experience with the captain, has he ever shown slightly xenophobic tendencies?"

"No."

"Has he ever expressed disgust with respect to those of mixed heritage?"

"No."

"In your conversations with him, has he ever mentioned specific traits he disliked or dissatisfaction in our working relationship?"

"Way back in the beginning, he complained about the fights you two'd have on the bridge, but no. Well, maybe during the academic hearings, he said a couple things that might be construed as xenophobic, but mostly he was just pissed off at you for bringing him up on what he thought were illegitimate charges. But nothing since you two started dating."

"Is it possible that he still harbors resentment towards me for that incident?"

"No. Not a chance," Leonard looked at me. "He said something to you, didn't he. The robot made some idiotic, offhand comment about your blood and you felt all kinds of hurt and betrayal you never thought you'd feel. Am I right?"

"Vulcans suppress all emotions."

"Got it in one," he muttered to himself. "All right, the state you're in, you're not going to listen to anything I say about emotions, so let's look at this logically. Now, from what I understand, Jim was put in a crazy spinning machine that created a perfect physical and mental robot duplicate of himself."

"It is written in the report and corroborated by Nurse Chapel."

"And there was some sorta plan to take over the _Enterprise_ so that the robots could form their own colony on another planet. The best way to do it, they decided, was to hijack the ship by using the robot Jim."

"That is a simplification of the motivations of the robotic species, but it is adequate."

"Jim realized their plan—or didn't realize it, I don't remember—but he put in a safeguard to make sure someone could tell the difference between him and the robot. I'd say it's amazing his plan worked at all, considering the robot technology was supposed to reproduce exactly Jim's mental patterns. That would mean scanning and eliminating anomalous behavior."

"The captain has always managed to achieve what seems almost impossible."

"So you'll agree with me that it stands to reason that Jim had to concentrate really hard, consciously, to imprint any type of hatred towards you so that it would manifest unconsciously in the robot version of himself."

"I am uncertain that is how the mechanism operates. Your hypothesis, however, is intriguing, and one that I had not considered."

"Fine, maybe Jim has some tiny speck of subconscious dislike towards you, but that wouldn't be enough for the machine to pick up on it and appear in the robot."

"It is possible there was an error in the device."

"Are you trying to give Jim the benefit of the doubt or not?"

"I see where your statements are going, doctor. However, that does not answer the question as to why the captain chose me as the focus. You mentioned yourself that you know him best and have been friends with him for more than five Terran years. It would be logical for him to concentrate on anomalous behavior that you would recognize."

"He chose you because you're his First Officer. He wanted to make sure that if anything happened to the ship, you'd be right there to relieve the robot of duty and take over. I thought that was obvious."

"You also have the power to declare the captain unfit for duty. In that case, I would still take over as acting captain."

"Spock, you're missing the point. He trusts _you_ with the _Enterprise_, the thing he loves most in this wide universe, more than he trusts a perfect robot version of himself. That's why he chose you, that's why he chose words that he knew would cut you deeply, and it worked. His gamble paid off."

I was silent.

"Jim's decisions have their own logic to them. It took me a good while to get to know him well enough so I could see it, but it is there. With this, there's no doubt in my mind what he was thinking. He trusts you with the _Enterprise_ more than he trusts anyone—that includes me and in a kind of twisted way, himself. He counts on you like no one else, knowing that if he's ever compromised, you won't be. You'll be there by his side, like you always have and always will, ready to step up to the plate and do whatever needs to be done."

Silence stretched between us as I absorbed this new information. The fire inside sparked to life again, but I suppressed the flame. One may be trusted and remain in control without contradiction.

"You should talk to Jim about this. He has an idea of how badly this ordeal effected you, but I don't think he knows exactly how much."

"Now that the logic of the captain's actions have been explained, I do not see a reason for further discussion of the matter. I would be grateful to you if you did not disclose the contents of this conversation to Jim."

Leonard groaned. "I hate giving relationship advice, but if you two don't sit down and have a serious conversation about where this thing between you two is headed, it's gonna get real ugly real fast."

"The captain and I are pursuing a mutually beneficial sexual relationship. I do not see what other clarification is needed."

"You're in too deep to tell me this is just about sex."

"There are, of course, common intellectual pursuits that we find enjoyable as well."

"If you're going to keep stonewalling about this and drag yourself through the Nile, then there's nothing I can do about it. There's no one can fix this but you and Jim. I refuse to get sucked in playing mediator or babysitter with you two. I'm a doctor, not a matchmaker, damnit."

"We would not ask you to fulfill that role."

A brief pause. I turned my attention back to the experiment.

"But you know I'm always here. I won't interfere, but if you need someone to listen or answer questions, my door's always open."

"You have made that abundantly clear, Leonard."

"Damnit man, I'm offering help if you ever need it. If you don't want it, you don't have to use it, it's your prerogative."

Leonard turned away, cursing under his breath.

"Doctor," I hesitated. "I am grateful for the assistance you have freely given. And though I cannot foresee when I might make use of your offer, I venture to say that it is likely that I will do so several times in the near future."

Leonard faced me once more.

"Thank you."

"Damn complicated Vulcan," he smiled. "I'm glad I could help, and I'll be glad to help again. What're friends for?"

I nodded.

The remainder of the time passed easily between us as we proceeded with the next steps of our project.


	140. Ch 140

Do not want that which you can never have. Desire is not logical.

Logic is not relevant to the question.

On the contrary, logic is the principle by which I organize my life.

Logic is not relevant to the question. Computers are perfectly logical. They are given a set of operators by which they execute all programs. Despite this absolute rationality they do not program themselves. Computers have no desires, no motivation to construct their own programs. We are the ones who do so. Desire, not logic, is what makes one a living creature. There are many ways by which one may organize one's life. Logic is one such method. However, logic does not define life.

Life is more than the mere instinct to continue existence. For those who are sentient, life must be defined in terms of more sophisticated constructs. It must seek after universal truths. The self reflexive quality of sentience is what sets intelligence above those creatures who merely desire to survive and proliferate.

The search for truth, the questions that one relentlessly asks oneself, are not borne from logic. They are borne from a desire to find an answer, a desire to organize the universe according to the same principle by which one organizes life. Logic allows one to attain one's objective. Desire is the reason why one searches in the first place.

Those statements do not contradict my claim. My original statement holds. It is not logical to desire that which one will never achieve. The expenditure of time, energy, and thought into such a fruitless endeavor leads to inefficiency, a waste of resources. The logical course of action is to terminate that pursuit and devote oneself to a more promising line of inquiry.

One cannot predict the outcome of all things. Whatever the probabilities, there is always a chance that events may turn out quite differently. Surely that is self evident, given one's personal experience on board this ship.

This situation—whatever the outcome, it is not desirable. The calculations are conclusive.

But desires are not. They shift and change. They flicker and burn, then cool. The desirability of the outcome depends on one's desire itself and in this case, that is something one has never been able to predict with any certainty.

The inherent instability of emotions is precisely what makes them an unsuitable paradigm by which one considers oneself and one's life.

Yet they are an integral part of life itself. Emotion cannot be ignored. Desire is an emotion. That one desires, that one hopes and wishes those desires to be fulfilled, is nothing to be ashamed of.

It is true that emotions cannot be ignored. It is not shame that I feel. That is the sentiment I might have felt at a younger age.

Then why fight against this desire? The energy one expends avoiding and suppressing it may far exceed what is reasonable. One must strike a balance between want and reason.

That balance depends on the factors that one considers. In the short term, it is possible that the benefits may compensate for the risks. In the long term, there is no certainty. There is no certainty that his sentiments, or my sentiments, will not change. I have no guarantee of the future, I have no probabilities that definitively assure me that he will not truly feel those words he spoke. Better to forego the fleeting sensations, better to let go of desire itself than risk myself wholly.

Fear. Desire does not conflict with logic, it conflicts with fear.

Emotions are changeable. That is their nature.

There are emotions that endure. Love given by a mother, love given to a mother.

She is dead.

Tell me, if he were to declare to you, tell you in words that he will never let you go, would you believe him?

No. He cannot know what he will feel in the future. He may regret, or reject, or stop, or simply change. And if that should happen, there would be nothing I could do to prevent it. Terrans are fickle creatures.

It may not proceed along that path. He may grow, and devote, and continue, and still change. Encouraged and enhanced in the relationship, the power shared equally, this desire may not be disappointed, but fulfilled. And one cannot claim to be so steadfast when one's mother is Terran. Yet of all the things one has seen in this wide universe, was there anything more lasting than her love for you? Humans can be fickle. But more than that, they are paradoxes.

There is no certainty. There is no certainty.

Then make it. Make your own certainty. Rig the game in your favor, ignore the odds and doubts. Let go of the fear and build your own probabilities. If one does not believe in the existence of no-win situations, then every situation is, by definition, winnable.

That is illogical. To disregard the reality of a situation, to deliberately omit data, leads to fallacies. I will not compromise myself in that way. A desire may burn within me, but logic must take precedence. Desires might provide the impetus for action, but they themselves must be subject to evaluation by logic. Even Terrans do not act on all their desires. There is a measure of restraint, whether imposed by oneself or imposed by society. I am a Vulcan, trained to suppress unnecessary emotions. That includes irrational desires.

There is nothing illogical about this. Fear makes you recoil, past hurts make you afraid. Years of hopes disappointed make you cautious. Logic is irrelevant to this discussion.

It is not logical to expose oneself so openly when previous experience has revealed that such actions inevitably lead to rejection.

The current situation is nothing like anything from the past. One cannot predict the future based solely on those past experiences for everything is different. All around, things are changed. This is the _Enterprise_. Jim is not typical in any respect whatsoever. And most importantly, you have changed.

I have changed. It is not enough.

Perhaps for now. But it is more than you think.

_Spock, do yourself a favor: put aside logic, do what feels right._

--

Jim and I are in my quarters, the chessboard between us, the chess pieces scattered on the floor. He kisses me slowly, deliberately, the motions of his tongue calculated to drive all doubts from my mind. I feel the coldness inside me dissolving, the heat of a deep fire burning.

This feels so right.

Then, panic seizes me as his fingers brush my psi points. I remember the robotic words and the list of probabilities.

I submerge the flame that blazes deep within my katra, choosing to focus on the fire racing in my blood instead.


	141. Ch 141

"Oh hello commander. Can I help you with anything?"

"I came to inquire after your well being. The Exo 3 mission impacted us all deeply."

Christine smiled, her grey eyes sparkling.

"That's," her voice caught. "That's very kind of you." She smiled. "I'll be fine. These things take time, though it feels like an eternity right now."

"Is there any way that I might be of assistance? Are you in need anything?"

"No, but thanks so much for asking. I appreciate it."

"You are certain there is nothing I can do?"

The nurse paused and thought.

"Actually, I wonder if I could hear you and Nyota play a duet again sometime. I loved listening to your performance at the talent show."

I nodded.

"I believe something could be arranged."

--

Nyota, Christine, and I are in a corner of the recreation room. A few crewmembers look at us curiously, but they move on to join their respective groups, immerse themselves in their respective activities. Christine is oblivious to the presence of the others.

"You're sure you want us to play here? We can reserve a conference room if you want more privacy, Chris."

"Growing up on a series of military bases, where every family in the unit knew everyone else and the only privacy you had was in your room, I'm used to this. It's actually kind of comforting, the ambient noise. Sometimes I think I was born to live on a starship."

"Okay. Just—you know how I get when I'm singing. My voice tends to carry. We might end up with the whole rec room listening in."

"That's fine. Music's meant to be shared anyway," she smiled.

I strummed my lute quietly to ensure that all the strings were still in tune.

"What're you going to sing?"

"You said you didn't have any preference when Spock asked, so I chose. It's not a sad song, but I wouldn't say it's happy either. Maybe uplifting? Hopeful?"

"It is certainly emotional. The first time Nyota and I rehearsed, she poured so much into the song that we had to end the session with only one run-through."

"It's not one of Scotty's sad bagpipe tunes, is it?"

"No."

"I tear up every time I hear _Amazing Grace_. I don't know why, I'm usually not that strongly affected by music. I remember hearing it once at my grandmother's funeral."

"I didn't know they still sang that at funerals."

"That, and they read Psalm 23. The Lord is my shepherd, and all that. I always liked that psalm, though I don't remember most of it."

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of Death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and they staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever."

"I didn't know you read the _Bible_, Spock," Christine said.

"My mother was Jewish. I am familiar with the Hebrew Scriptures. The 23rd Psalm was one she read often."

Christine smiled.

"Ready, Spock?"

"Everything is in order, ndugu."

"Then whenever you want to start playing."

I adjusted my hold on the lute and placed my hand in position on the appropriate strings. I looked at Nyota, nodded, then plucked the first notes, the first chords.

_Lay down_

When Nyota sings, the sound of her voice reaches down deep and pulls.

_Your sweet and weary head_

She begins soft and low, her voice smooth and warm like a desert breeze.

_Night is falling / You have come to journey's end_

I listen carefully, adjusting my performance so that the lute accompanies her voice. I know she is doing the same, listening to my performance and changing slight details so that her voice complements my lute.

_Sleep now / And dream of the ones who came before_

Every practice, every performance is different.

_They are calling_

The first time I practiced music with her, the process was technical: counting beats, matching pitch, organizing signals by which we knew when to start or stop, speed up or slow down, crescendo or decrescendo.

_From across the distant shore_

Practice after practice after practice, gaining an understanding of her singing style, preferences, the musical rapport we have is intuitive.

_Why do you weep_?

In my peripheral vision, there are people standing, sitting, watching, listening. But only in my peripheral vision. I watch the ticks of Nyota's body, I listen to the sound of her voice.

_What are these tears upon your face_

She closes her eyes, reaching down inside herself. When Nyota sings, she loses herself in the music.

_Soon you will see_

When Nyota sings, anyone who listens loses themself to her world of music.

_All of your fears will pass away_

The songs are not always so heavy, like this one. When I told her of Christine's request, she could not decide between a light, carefree tune and one charged with grief.

_Safe in my arms / You're only sleeping_

Christine is sitting very still.

_What can you see_

The fingers of my right hand touch the fine strings of my instrument. My left hand adjusts the knobs every so often.

_On the horizon? / Why do the white gulls call?_

Nyota has said that she also finds herself responding to the audience, the environment around her. Her voice soars, sound illustrating words and seabirds flying into the ocean horizon, as though she could create a world simply by the power of her voice.

_Across the sea_

I criticized her once for singing too emotionally. She replied, "If not for emotions, what is music?"

_A pale moon rises / The ships have come to carry you home_

Scotty is in the audience, his expression open in a way I have never witnessed before.

_And all will turn / To silver glass / The light on the water / All souls pass_

Decrescrendo.

_Hope fades_

"Have you ever felt it? There's a moment when everything comes together—the music, the performers, the audience. When that happens, it's as though nothing else matters. Everything fades, like lights dimming and all that's left are the notes streaking through the darkness like comets."

_Into the world of night_

Objectively speaking, this is a recreation room. The lights are bright white, fluorescent. The crewmembers have pulled up chairs, sit on top of tables, lean into each other in a haphazard ensemble. Some are crying, eyes red and faces scrunched.

_Though shadows falling / Out of memory and time_

"It doesn't matter the kind of music. I could sing nonsense, or the latest pop song. I could sing one of those drinking songs Scotty's been teaching me. That's how I see it. Shooting stars, galaxies swirling, chasing Halley's comet across the savanna."

_Don't say_

Objectively speaking, they do not know the reason for this performance, they do not know the circumstance surrounding Nurse Chapel. They cannot know her grief.

_We have come now to the end_

But listening to Nyota's voice, my lute, the words, the chords, something comes together. We may not know every sorrow and loss experienced, we may never truly know each other. Nothing is said, no words are spoken.

_White shores are calling / You and I will meet again_

But somehow, small moments like these draw us together, bring us a little closer than we were before. Somehow, music changes everything, nothing, something.

Scotty looks at Nyota as though she is a revelation.

Christine's legs are crossed, right hand resting on the left side of her neck, left hand holding her right upper arm. Her face is turned away to the right, her eyes focused on an indeterminate point in space. She is smiling, grey eyes sparkling in the harsh light.

At the end of our performance, she embraces me. The gesture is unexpected, but I make no objections. She lets go quickly, eyes still glittering.

"Thank you."

I nod. Christine exchanges a few words with Nyota, then slips through the crowd and exits the room. Various crewmembers come to me to express their appreciation of our performance, some have questions about my lute. Others request that Nyota and I perform or practice more often in the recreation room. Still others mention they also play instruments and would like an opportunity to collaborate with one or both of us.

Nyota basks in the afterglow of the performance, and Scotty's radiant smile.

--

_Love, I find, is like singing. Everybody can do enough to satisfy themselves, though it may not impress the neighbors as being very much_.

-Zora Neale Hurston


	142. Ch 142

"_Chyort vozmi_."

"Lieutenant?"

"Nothing I am trying is working, Mr. Spock. I am rewiring this _sto raz_ and still it is not cooperating."

Pavel glared at the prototype design of the upgraded navigation panel.

"Perhaps a break would help. I would not be opposed to taking a meal at this time."

"Now that you are mentioning it, I am hungry too. I skipped lunch during my shift."

"Did anything happen on the bridge? I was not informed of any situations—"

"_Nyet nyet_," he laughed. "It is no emergency happening. I was browsing databases for newest articles from periodicals and catching up on the reading I haf been missing. That is what I am usually doing when nothing is going on. It was a wery quiet shift today."

"Were there any articles of particular interest?"

"I am recently reading more astrophysics, and things about antimatter research. The ideas that Ruk is giving Scotty also is making curiousity about transporter technology. _Nu_, _koroche govorya_, I am reading ewerything."

We went to the replicators. Pavel quickly punched in a sequence for his meal and continued speaking.

"_Ranshe_, before, I am not being so interested in transporters. I am good at using them and beaming people up and down, but _ya—nikogda nye hotyel zanimatsa mashinostroyeniyem._ I am physicist, not engineer. Transporters are engineering problem, for Scotty, not for me."

The replicator indicated that his meal was ready.

"Like this replicator. Why is anyone wanting to study them?"

Pavel pulled out some rye bread and a salad that seemed to be composed of shredded cabbage, tomatoes, cucumbers, dill, and sour cream. There was also a hot soup with which I was not familiar. It also seemed to be based on cabbage.

"As I understand, Mr. Scott made several improvements to the replicators so that they might provide a wider range of foods for the crew."

I inputted my preferences. The additions included several typical Vulcan dishes.

"I am knowing this. Me and Hikaru gave him a list of food that we are wanting to see on the replicators after he is losing at poker."

"I see."

"I am still not understanding the mind of an engineer. But I am not understanding many things," he shrugged. "Like the navigation panel wiring."

The replicator beeped. After I gathered my meal, Pavel and I sat down at a table.

"You indicated that Ruk initiated your new interest in transporters?"

"The robot's machine is introducing nice, theoretical side to transporter, not just application. So I am getting interested."

"I have not looked over all the notes that you forwarded me, but it struck me that there are many functional similarities between the replicators and Ruk's machine. If I understood Mr. Scott's brief explanation correctly, then the same principle of rearranging atoms applies."

"But that is not all the Merry-Go-Round—that is what Scotty is calling it, the name is sticking—does. Ruk was finding a way to create a perfect thinking machine with the programming already in place! Maybe we are getting as good as making androids like it was making, the shell and body. But I am being excited about the next step. It is like something out of a sci-fi serial, to be having a machine, to be having the equations, to _create thought_! Avoid all the complicated programming for AI, but just spin it out of the Merry-Go-Round."

Pavel was gesticulating enthusiastically, his eyes wide and imagination visibly overflowing.

"The subject of a machine synthesizing sentience and consciousness will be seized upon by philosophers."

"Philosophers are also seizing on Heisenburg's Uncertainty Principle, and look where they are now," he retorted. "_Duraki_, _vsye_. Let physicists do physics, not some _bolvan na filosofskom fakultetye_."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I was not aware that you held strong opinions on the matter."

"I am liking solwing problems and looking at equations. I haf read some philosophers—it is speculation. I cannot be using it. And many times, they are wrong."

Pavel ate his soup in earnest. I observed him, occasionally taking bites from my own plate. He looked up, a question in his eyes.

"You are different. Changed from your first days aboard the _Enterprise_." I answered.

He grinned.

"I am not sewenteen."


	143. Ch 143

Since our first foray into the apparently vast arena of sexual acts, Jim and I have been exploring the different options available to us. Most of the ideas originate from Jim, who has considerably more experience than me in such matters. His suggestions are not exclusively Terran. Jim seems to have engaged in sexual activities with a wide variety of alien species, although Vulcans are not, unsurprisingly, numbered among them.

Our explorations have varying degrees of success. Some things that Jim finds incredibly arousing, I have no response to whatsoever, despite the fact that I am half human. Jim has only a cursory knowledge of Vulcan biology, so it is often 'hit or miss' as to what stimulates me. He seems to revel in the challenge, however.

There are few activities which seem to be pleasurable for us both. We both enjoy finding each other's erogenous zones. The regions to which a Vulcan is sexually sensitive are dissimilar to that of a Terran's. As a half Vulcan, this study is even more fascinating. I have all of the typical Vulcan erogenous zones. Jim has discovered more on me which, I am told, are quite human.

Jim introduced me to the concept of masturbation.

"You're joking. You've never masturbated before?"

"The way you describe the activity—to sexually arouse oneself, if I am not mistaken—it would be extremely illogical for a Vulcan."

"Illogical? What the hell does logic have to do with this?"

I raised an eyebrow. "That is precisely my point. There is no logic to such self indulgent behavior. Besides which, there are other reasons that Vulcans do not need to masturbate."

"You are missing out. Watch."

Jim proceeded to engage in the act before me, narrating his actions and describing every part of my body that he has at some point fantasized about. It was strangely compelling to watch and to listen. By the time he was finished, my heart rate was elevated and I was breathing quickly.

"So," he said. "Your turn."

I was somewhat self conscious, but that quickly disappeared. The experience was a novel one. Jim found my orgasm to be extremely compelling to watch. The first time we did this, he was particularly fixated on the green tint of my body.

Jim also introduced what he claims to be the universal acts of a 'hand job' and a 'blow job.' I objected to his claim that these were universal acts, as not all species have hands or mouths, but Jim simply laughed. Technicalities aside, as a touch telepath, I found the idea of a 'hand job' to be fascinating. Jim found my hands to be exquisitely satisfying. As it turns out, I am partial to his 'blow jobs,' while he prefers my 'hand jobs.'

Despite these activities and our experimentation, Jim does not consider any of these acts to be 'actual sex.' They are sexual acts, but the term 'sex' is reserved for a specific act. This distinction seems to be derived from Terran cultural tradition. For reasons unknown, he places undue importance on the archaic concept of virginity. While it is true that I have not engaged in these particular sexual activities before, I do not see any reason for him to be so wary of that fact. This distinction between 'actual sex' and 'sexual acts' is one such example of his caution.

I find his distinction to be somewhat facetious, as any of these acts among Vulcans would be considered lower forms of sexual intercourse. The equivalent differentiation among Vulcans between 'actual sex' and 'sexual acts' would be physical intercourse that includes telepathic components, and simple physical intercourse.

In our brief discussion of the matter, I did not mention this. I did not believe it was relevant. I am somewhat curious as to what Jim might consider sexual intimacy, as Vulcan standards are likely to be quite disparate from that of humans. I conducted a very shallow survey on the topic, looking through Terran scientific literature. All papers list some key features, but like everything related to Terrans, the definition of sexual intimacy differs from person to person. Interestingly, the papers agree that sexual intimacy does not depend on the act itself, but the emotion invested behind it by both parties.

Furthemore, in the course of my study concerning sexual intimacy, I came across the phrase 'making love' several times. The phrase appears often in Terran literature and poetry as well, as though the abstract concept of love can be created by the joining of two bodies. Vulcans have a somewhat analogous idea concerning the joining of two complementary minds, but 'making love' has rarely been associated with physical sexual intercourse, for various reasons.

All in all, I find these explorations of my and Jim's biology to be intriguing and sexually satisfying. Jim is more than happy to oblige my curiosity, and judging by the few conversations we have had on the matter of sexual intercourse, it seems he cannot believe that I am willing to engage in such activities. He considers himself, for reasons unknown, to be very lucky. From that statement, and evaluating my own thoughts, I may conclude that our arrangement as sexual partners is mutually enjoyable.


	144. Ch 144

Jim kisses a spot on my neck, then scrapes his teeth over the same spot.

We are in my quarters. I am preparing a brief for our next mission. I stop typing as Jim continues to plant kisses down my neck. His left hand slides down the left side of my torso, his cool touch making the muscles of my stomach tighten.

I have put off this brief for too long. It was due two hours ago. My fingers resume their previous motions, my eyes focus on the screen. Jim can be very distracting, however, when he sets his mind to it.

He decides to pay special attention to my ears, nipping and sucking every part.

Sentences fly out from my fingers. The entirety of the brief comes together in a moment of clarity and within minutes, I have completed the file and have sent it to the appropriate departments.

Jim exhales through his mouth against my ear, the air charged with moisture and warmth. It sends blood thrumming through my hands. He murmurs, voice low and spiked with desire.

"Finished your report?"

"Affirmative. It seems I lacked the sufficient motivation to complete the task in an expedient manner."

He laughs, the sound emanating from deep inside his throat.

"Glad I could help."

He moves my chair so that I am sitting in front of him, then nudges my knees apart using his left leg. Jim moves closer and my legs naturally separate further until he is standing between them. His hands peel my shirt off my body. They hold my shoulders as Jim leans down and kisses me slowly, tortuously. He continues kissing me as he kneels. I adjust my own position accordingly so as not to break the contact. We kiss, mouths open and tongues ranging over now-familiar territory. Jim's hands shift and he continues his exploration.

This is different. In all our previous sexual encounters, the pace was faster, harder. We pushed each other, experimented relentlessly, lost ourselves in the heat and strokes and hands and mouths. None of that urgency is present now. Jim slowly, carefully, almost reverently touches my body. His fingers linger, they gently press into the corners of my arms, elbows. When the cool plane of his palm presses into the angle between my thighs, I gasp and arch. Jim watches my reaction, eyes glowing that otherworldly blue, glowing with desire and want and wonder.

He kisses into my mouth again, passionate and unhurried. His mouth travels down, tongue and teeth and lips coaxing reactions—moans and sharp intakes of breath—from every inch of me. He bites and sucks, bites and sucks, drawing green blood from beneath the dermis up to the epidermis, marking me with each motion.

This is different. It is too close, too slow. My breath is ragged, and not only from the lust that sings in my veins. The fire I struggle to suppress is blazing inside my heart, consuming me from the inside out and I cannot help but tilt my head back when he kisses the right upper quadrant of my abdomen, where my heart pounds against my ribcage. I briefly close my eyes, then open them and draw upon years of Vulcan discipline to reign in my reactions. Jim's middle finger traces the line down my throat, followed by his teeth.

His hand comes up to my face and I close my eyes.

"Spock."

My eyelids flutter. I am met with the sight of his blue eyes, intense and burning. My body is tense. Jim's other hand caresses the adductor muscles of my inner thigh. He moves forward to kiss me, but my head jerks back. He moves forward again and plants a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth. Then another. And another until I respond, kissing him lightly at first, finding myself getting pulled into his kiss.

It is different.

It feels so right.

At that moment, I almost let go, I almost admit to myself this truth that blazes within me. This truth that terrifies me, but feels so right. Almost.

He breaks the kiss. We are breathing heavily, inhaling and exhaling through our open mouths. His nose touches mine. He exhales on my lips, slow and intimate. For a moment he remains there, face so close that his eyelashes occasionally brush against my skin.

Then he slides his hands to my hips and pulls me forward until I am sitting on the edge of the chair, legs splayed apart. The position forces my spine to align perfectly, my shoulders straighten and I find myself sitting in textbook military posture. Jim places his hands on my quadriceps, thumbs pressing into my adductor muscles. He removes his touch and I watch as he takes his own shirt off.

And suddenly we are skin to skin, his cool torso leaning into mine as he wraps his arms around me and pulls me flush to him. He presses kisses into my chest, his right palm is flat against my back while the other hand's index finger traces the straight path of my spinal column. My own hands touch him, right hand touching his hair, left hand's index finger mirroring his action by following the trail of his spinal column. I begin to shift my legs to wrap them around him but he stops me.

"Pants. No, let's go to the bed."

Jim still holds off on engaging in 'actual sex.'

But this is different. It is slow, it is close, it is—intimate.

After we are sated, I find myself wondering how much longer I can suppress the truth before it utterly consumes me.


	145. Ch 145

Cadets and Captains Face Discrimination, Bigotry at Starfleet

by Bernstein Sanger and Dana Woodward

In Starfleet Academy's Cadet Administration building is an office, run by former Chief of Security Officer Ernesto Ortiz Moruno. Here in the rows of grey cubicles, CSO Ortiz and his staff process complaints, anonymous tips, and reports of acts like hazing, vandalism, robberies, and assault. Cadets come in on a daily basis to file an incident or follow up on an investigation, and Ortiz ensures that their paperwork gets handled in a timely and efficient manner. He runs a tight ship. His staff are professional, and they've seen practically everything.

Most acts reported are typical things you might find on a non-military campus. But an alarming percentage could legally be classified as hate crimes, defined by the Federation as "acts perpetrated against an individual on the basis of their species, skin color, gender, sexual orientation, race, religion, national or ethnic origin, mental or physical disability, or other similar factor." Ortiz and the staff handle hate crime cases every week with the same cool efficiency. Everything is processed quickly and quietly, and the incident never goes beyond the Cadet Administration building.

On the opposite side of campus stands Starfleet Headquarters, a building that houses dozens of departments and sub-agencies. Within those walls, admirals and officers gather to discuss future mission plans, review intelligence reports, and send the Federation's ships to every corner of the Milky Way Galaxy. Surveying the Officer's Dining Hall, it seems every species in the Alpha Quadrant is represented. The diversity that Starfleet promotes is on full display. But go up one level and peer into the Admiral's Lounge. There, you will find that of the numerous flag officers serving at Headquarters, only three are female, seven are of non-human origin, none are homo/bi/transsexual, and a disproportionate number of the human flag officers originate from certain regions of Earth.

Examining the roster of active duty captains and flag officers commanding starbases, this pattern continues. It's not as extreme as the picture shown of Starfleet's headquarters, but currently there are only four female captains, seven non-human captains, and one confirmed homosexual captain. The remainder fit the profile of human, male, heterosexual.

The common perception of Starfleet is of a diverse, scientific/military force, of ships that boldly go where no one has ever gone before, outfitted with crew consisting of the best and brightest of the Federation. But under that progressive exterior lies a deeply flawed bureaucratic apparatus characterized by outdated attitudes, perpetuating an alarmingly discriminatory policy towards any non-human, non-male, non-heterosexual officers who try to climb the ranks. The image of diversity presented by Starfleet is as natural as the carefully manicured lawns of the Academy.

Looking at the origins of some of these outdated policies, most of them were implemented twenty-seven years ago, after the _Narada_ destroyed the U.S.S. _Kelvin._ Starfleet overhauled its bureaucratic procedures and overall organization as part of a plan of major reform. The violence of the attack and the total destruction of the _Kelvin_ shocked the Federation and Starfleet into a flurry of action. The FedCouncil held week after week of hearings, commissioned several reports, hired four think tanks to draw up recommendations. The consensus among citizens and the governing bodies—Starfleet had to increase its military capacity. The luxury of simply embarking on scientific missions was no longer available. After weeks of debate and discussion, the FedCouncil passed a bill that dramatically changed Starfleet's internal structure. The bill also increased the military budget, folded several intelligence agencies into Starfleet, and introduced controversial changes into the entrance exam and curriculum at the Officer Academy.

Now, we are finally seeing the consequences of all those reforms. The reorganization of Starfleet along strictly military lines was meant to increase fleet efficiency and preparedness in the face of an attack. The majority of reforms put in place—focusing scientific research along military interests, broadening the power of the military courts, reconsidering the terms of the Prime Directive, to name a few, have yielded ambiguous results. The longstanding policies advocating aggressive action have always been the subject of debate among policymakers.

"Some of those changes have sent Starfleet back to the pre-Warp age," stated one admiral, who asked not to be named. "Merging intelligence agencies with Starfleet made it absolutely necessary to decrease transparency and oversight of the fleet's activities. Practically everything's classified now. It didn't used to be that way."

Despite the Freedom of Information Acts passed by the FedCouncil, our requests for full disclosure of all crew rosters were denied. It took thirteen days to get permission to conduct an interview with one of the active duty captains. Especially since the destruction of Vulcan, Starfleet has launched a calculated campaign to preserve its image in the mind of the public. The desire to project an image of strength and security to the Federation and the rest of the galaxy has become a top priority. So the claims of hate crimes filed in CSO Ortiz's office—another sign of the serious problems afflicting Starfleet—rarely reach the ears of the press and if they do, Starfleet's efficient press department goes into damage control mode. Any mention of reform has been met with strong resistance from Headquarters.

"It's become virtually impossible to introduce any widespread changes into the Starfleet apparatus, impossible to question the chain of command, impossible to overcome some blocks that seriously need to be removed," Admiral Pike said over a transmission. "We are a military institution, first and foremost, but we're also an institution of the Federation, meant to uphold the principles of freedom. This veil of secrecy that's descended on Starfleet is intolerable and goes against everything the Federation stands for."

There are several ranking officers who agree with Admiral Pike.

"Chris has been talking about shaking things up ever since he got his commission," Admiral Nuriel stated. The admiral was a staunch opponent against the changes implemented by Starfleet. He testified extensively at the FedCouncil hearings. "And I agree, we need some of the _Kelvin_ package reevaluated. I think that the restrictions in the officer school entrance exam are particularly egregious; they should never have been put in there. Several consultants have tested the thing and show that it's biased against women particularly, but also non-humans."

When asked why it has stayed in place despite its obvious flaws, the admiral said that, "they thought the benefits outweighed any disadvantages. It _is_ a good indicator of the raw command potential of a prospective cadet." He added that "the test doesn't take into account that command instincts can be cultivated, and that more than one kind of command intelligence exists."

Consultant Kareem-Philips Barra explained the nature of the bias inside the test. "Women and non-human captains tend to handle the problems that come up in a different way than their male and human counterparts—that's just the way it is. It's the way our brains are hardwired after thousands of years of evolution. That doesn't make their decisions better or worse than others, but the test consistently favors stereotypically human and masculine responses."

In the upper echelons of Starfleet command, the nature of the problem is different. Each captain who is considered for promotion is reviewed by a board of admirals. The review itself is as unbiased and objective as possible. The board is not.

"It's a kind of cycle. It's an elite club, and they tend to pick their own kind to join the ranks," Svetlana Petroshevo wrote in a recent article. She is the founder and head of a watchdog organization. "We're seeing the same problems that we faced after the big civil rights movements—everyone is equal in the eyes of the law, but there are unfair hurdles placed in the way of those who want to be the movers and shakers of society. Since the destruction of Vulcan, this problem has gotten worse. We don't have the force of their logic to act as a counterbalance to our emotional tendencies. As far as I know there is only a handful of Vulcans left in the entire fleet. Most have resigned their commission and joined the efforts to rebuild their society on Vulcan II, when there has never been a time when we needed them more."

One of the few Vulcans who has chosen to remain in Starfleet is First Officer and Chief Science Officer S'chn T'gai Spock of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_, who serves under Captain James Tiberius Kirk. As a half-human half-Vulcan who played a key role in rescuing the Vulcan population, some consider him a symbol of the resilience of the Vulcan spirit and an outstanding example of the diversity the Federation represents. Starfleet has actively encouraged this perception. Not only that, but the adventures and exploits of the _Enterprise_, her captain, and her crew have become a galactic symbol, household names for every citizen of the Federation.

But even these officers have not escaped the hidden prejudice and backwardness of Starfleet. We obtained, from an anonymous source, the audio files of a transmission between Captain Kirk and his commanding officer, Admiral Nogura. The content of the conversation speaks for itself.

audio file, click to listen

transcript, click to open

Admiral Heihachiro Nogura: Kirk, what's this I've been hearing all over the nets about you being gay?

Captain James T. Kirk: I wasn't aware that my sexual orientation had any relevance to my ability to command, admiral.

Admiral Heihachiro Nogura: So it's true?

Captain James T. Kirk: Would you mind starting at the beginning and telling me exactly that this is about?

Admiral Heihachiro Nogura: There's rumors everywhere that you and your First Officer are in a relationship.

Captain James T. Kirk: And do you believe those rumors, sir?

Admiral Heihachiro Nogura: Do you understand what this means? There has never been a gay captain in the history of Starfleet.

Captain James T. Kirk: Admiral, I identified myself as bisexual when I first registered for Starfleet, and there was no problem. I personally know many gays, lesbians, transsexuals, and bisexuals who serve on starships. Starfleet accepts Deltans and Orions, so I don't see what the problem is.

Admiral Heihachiro Nogura: None of them are captains, and none of them are on the fast track for the admiralcy.

Captain James T. Kirk: Are you implying that homosexuals are somehow incapable of being commanders and accomplishing as much as heterosexuals? Or maybe you're suggesting that every single one of my decisions is compromised, because obviously they must be related to the fact that I'm attracted to men.

Admiral Heihachiro Nogura: I don't want to know about it, Kirk. Whatever you do in your private life is your own business. But if this ever gets out—if the rumors ever become confirmed, you're on your own. Because I can guarantee you that if this gets out, there will be a media storm.

Captain James T. Kirk: "I'm on my own?" Clarify what that means, admiral.

Admiral Heihachiro Nogura: It means, we won't fire you, but we won't make any statements on your behalf. Starfleet's a scientific and military operation, not a gay rights proponent.

click to close

We tried to obtain an interview with Admiral Nogura to discuss the comments. The press officer replied in a written statement that "the exchange between Admiral Nogura and Captain Kirk was a necessary conversation to ensure that the fraternization policies, applicable to all commanding officers on active duty, had not been violated. The comments of Admiral Nogura regarding the sexual orientation of Captain Kirk were regrettable and do not represent Starfleet's positions. Starfleet supports the diversity of all Federation planets and 38% of all Starfleet personnel have registered themselves as homo/bi/transexual."

Our requests to get an interview with Captain Kirk were denied. The _Enterprise_ was, at the time, under communications blackout on a classified intelligence mission.

This is the invisible subculture of Starfleet. The institution showcases the diversity and strength of the fleet, emphasizing the remarkable technology and military prowess. The message is clear—all is well after the _Narada_. Our lines of defense are still intact and rolling. Nothing is amiss.

On the Academy's campus, cadets have noted an increase in the number of high profile political visitors they've been receiving. Members of the FedCouncil have repeatedly praised the vitality of the fleet and the ingenuity of the captains in the face of danger. They take pride in the ideals Starfleet represent and have pledged their continued support for all soldiers on duty. But in the silent datapads of CSO Ortiz's office, there is another reality. After the destruction of Vulcan, the number of hate crimes suddenly increased. That number has remained high ever since.

"This is a crying shame," Ortiz said, when asked about the incidents. "I've seen this reaction before, serving eighteen years on a starship. People get scared after an attack, so they lash out against others they might see as a threat. I get cadets of every stripe in here, telling me a story I've heard a hundred times now."

Concerned, he went to report this to Starfleet's Headquarters, the overwhelmed bureaucracy simply filed it away. It was never brought up again.

In a recent visit, Council member Wprgsnag delivered a poignant speech at the graduation ceremony of a fresh new crop of cadets. Facing a large crowd of individuals of from every walk of life and every corner of the galaxy, she delivered another optimistic message to the graduating class.

"Nothing in this galaxy can compare to those who serve in our military. The soldiers, sailors, and scientists who embark on these ships face the great unknown of space. They defend our planets, explore the inner reaches of our galaxy, and discover amazing new knowledge. They come into contact with new alien species every day. What you will see and experience is beyond the scope of anyone's imagination. The dangers you will face are completely uncharted.

"You are the hope of our future. This class is a shining light to all in this galaxy of the Vulcan belief that there is infinite diversity in infinite combinations. Together, we are strong. Together, we can repair what's been broken and regain what we've lost. The Vulcans believed in this, and they lived their principles with every First Contact they initiated. That doesn't mean that they didn't make mistakes. But they learned from each error and tried, using that indomitable logic, to understand better the worlds and species they discovered.

"In these difficult times, we still carry forward the Vulcan tradition of _Kol-ut-Shan_. We honor the principles of the Vulcans used as the foundation of the Federation's space exploration programs. The spirit of that people lives on in the starships you'll serve and the planets you'll protect. In these very halls, we show to the rest of the galaxy our strength and our unwavering devotion to liberty, equality, and fraternity.

"I am honored today to present to each of you your Starfleet assignments and give you the Starfleet insignia. Wear it with honor and wear it proudly. Wherever you go in this wide galaxy, remember where you come from, and stay true to what you believe in. Remember that all life is precious and that every life is valuable. Never forget that you have the power to change the world and the responsibility to make it a better place. Each one of you is an ambassador to the universe representing our promise. _Liberté, égalité, fraternité_!"


	146. Ch 146

"Captain."

"Admiral Pike," Jim nodded.

"You've caused quite a stir."

"Sir, if this is about the Orion pirates from the medical supply mission, I did some research on the official treaty between the Orion system and the Federation and we can argue that—"

"That's not what I'm talking about, Captain, though it certainly is a matter you'll need to discuss with your new admiral."

"My new admiral? I'm being reassigned?"

"Admiral Nogura is currently under review and is expected to resign from his position by the end of the week."

Several members of the bridge crew turned and paid full attention to the viewscreen and the captain. Jim straightened in his chair.

Admiral Pike continued. "You've read the article, I assume."

Jim gave a curt nod.

"The whistleblower was on our side, in Starfleet's bureaucracy. We don't know who, but they leaked the transmission between you and Nogura to Sanger and Woodward, and they wrote that damning piece.

"Have you been keeping up with the aftermath on the nets?"

"No, sir. I just learned of the article a few shifts ago, when one my officers brought it to me."

"Nogura was right that this would explode in the media. Since the publication of the article there's been a huge public outcry about the way you've been treated. The FedCouncil has been holding hearings about allegations of discriminatory practices in Starfleet. Ever since Nero, we've been trying to overhaul the system anyway. Now an entire debate's been opened on the public forums regarding the process.

"Starfleet's still balking at the thought of making the whole thing transparent. We are a military operation, after all. But public pressure is so great that I think the rest of the admirals will have to relent. I was worried that not enough reforms would get pushed through—if you ever become admiral, you'll find yourself mired in a microcosm of petty politics—but now we've got a fighting chance to implement some sweeping and absolutely necessary reforms. It's a good thing you've put in motion, son."

"I think it's more accurate to say that Admiral Nogura set things in motion, Admiral Pike. He said all the stuff, not me. Or the journalists. They wrote everything."

"But you had the guts to stand up for who you are and what you believe. Not everyone has the courage, or maybe a better word is audacity, to speak to their commanding officer like that."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'insubordination,' sir."

"That too," Admiral Pike laughed. His expression sobered. "But something like this was needed. I'm sorry to both you and Commander Spock that you were subjected to Nogura's—Starfleet's taken to calling it 'unprofessional behavior'—I'll call it homophobia, but the first domino needed to be tipped by someone. There have been lawsuits filed against Starfleet for this very reason, but none of them made much of an impact. This happened at the right time in the right place to the right people. You and Spock are so popular among the public that you've inadvertently forced the issue and Starfleet's hand. And I'd like to thank you for that. With any luck, this will mix things up here at headquarters."

"Admiral," I stepped forward, "you mentioned that we are being reassigned. Will you be giving us our assignments from this point forwards?"

"No. Gentlemen, I'd like to introduce you to your commanding officer, my very good friend and colleague."

The viewscreen switched to a split screen. Admiral Pike was smiling, and on the other screen appeared Number One.

"Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, I look forward to working with you for the remainder of your five year mission," she said, her voice ever cool and collected.

"Admiral," the captain saluted. "Congratulations on your promotion."

She nodded, an enigmatic look on her face.

"Just out of curiosity, do you go by 'Admiral One' or 'Admiral Number One'?"

"'Admiral' will suffice, Captain Kirk."

"Understood, ma'am."

"Captain, I've got to cut my side of the transmission short, but on behalf of all of us here at Starfleet, I'd like to thank you, Commander Spock, and your crew for services rendered. It's about time things changed around here."

"Agreed, sir."

Admiral Pike saluted, then his portion of the screen blacked out. The communications officer quickly changed the viewscreen to bring our new admiral into full view.

"Now, Captain Kirk, I would like to address several points. Two are of particular importance. The first concerns your handling of the Orion pirate ships and the situation on the planet Exo 3. The second concerns your relationship with your First Officer. Which would you like to discuss first?"

Jim gave me a look.

"I'll take the bad news first."

"The bad news is that I am permanently assigning you a lawyer with whom you will go over the nuances of intergalactic law. Her name is Areel Shaw, she holds the rank of lieutenant. She will provide legal counsel for missions as required. You will be required to write a report to her for those missions I designate. The first thing that you and Lt. Shaw will review is the neutrality treaty between the Orions and the Federation, and then the finer points of the Prime Directive. Commander Spock, if you will forward to me possible times that you and your captain will be free for such a conference, as soon as possible. Lt. Shaw stated that in both these cases Captain Kirk, you were very lucky. However, you cannot rely on luck to save you from every legal situation. I have very high respect for Lt. Shaw's talents. Her specialties are in intergalactic and military law, and she is an excellent prosecutor."

"And the good news?"

"The good news is that Lt. Shaw has already outlined a defense should either you or Commander Spock come under disciplinary action by Starfleet due to your relationship. However, there are certain procedures that must be followed. The Chief Medical Officer—I believe that is Dr. Leonard McCoy on this ship—will be required to submit psychological evaluations that specifically address the question of the effect of your personal relationship on your professional conduct."

"Doesn't that violate doctor-patient confidentiality laws?"

"He will not be required to provide specific details, only his professional opinion. Do you have any other concerns?"

Jim frowned. "Not right now."

"Any questions can be directed to me or Lt. Shaw. Also, it goes without saying that while on duty, physical contact is strictly prohibited, with the exception of necessary contact that must take place in the event of an emergency. I will send you the entirety of her document in a transmission. You may review it at your leisure.

"At the moment, Starfleet is willing to overlook your relationship, which gives you something of a grace period. They are embarrassed by the recent incident and press coverage, but that does not mean that all are supportive of it. It may come up again later."

"And you, admiral, if you don't mind my asking?"

"As long as your relationship does not impinge on your duty and obligation as commanders of the _Enterprise_, I have no objection. Lt. Shaw is fully supportive of your relationship, as is Admiral Pike. We will defend you if you ever come under attack again, but that defense will be easier if you take precautions and ensure that your conduct is nothing less than exemplary."

Jim grinned. "Nothing less than exemplary? I think I can do that, admiral."

"Good. Now, I have several files ready to be transmitted, as well as your next assignment, captain."

"Lieutenant, ready to receive?"

"Aye captain."

"Then let's do this."


	147. Ch 147

"What are your intentions towards Nyota?"

Scotty looked up from his datapad and blinked.

"Ah—could you repeat that? Did you just ask what my attentions towards Nyota are?"

"Affirmative. I have noticed that you and Nyota have been spending more time in each other's presence. I have also observed that mutual romantic interest seems to exist in both parties. Therefore I ask, what are your intentions towards Nyota?"

"I'm, uh, not quite sure I understand the meaning of the word 'intentions.'"

"You have not considered the future course of your relationship with her."

"Um, no?"

"Then if you would, please state the reasons as to why you are pursuing a relationship with her if you are uncertain about the long term viability of that relationship."

"I—" Scotty opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to compose a reply. "I like her. She's beautiful and intelligent, fierce—a little bit scary, that—but like no woman I've met before."

"You are attracted to her."

"Aye, there's that too. Man would have to be blind not to be attracted to her, bloody African goddess in a 'fleet uniform. But," he paused, expression softening. "That's not everything."

The expression disappeared and was replaced with a bright smile.

"Your replies have not answered my questions."

"It's not something you can explain with words, Mr. Spock. Take yourself for example. Why did you start a relationship with her? Or with the captain, for that matter?"

"Nyota and I initiated our relationship to determine our compatibility as mates."

"You were thinking of marriage? From the first date?"

"Affirmative. I terminated our relationship when it was apparent that we could not adequately provide for each other as partners."

Scotty considered my words.

"Well I guess that makes sense. You are Vulcan."

"If that is not the reason why you are interested in her romantically, then why enter into a relationship with her?"

"I don't know. I don't know where this is going right now. And if I sat down to think about it, it'd probably scare the bloody daylights out of me," he admitted frankly. "But what my heart's telling me? She might be the one. I'm a little uncertain, but she might be."

"The one? I was not aware that you subscribed to that notion."

"I don't know if I do. But I _would_ bet my life that my mother's smiling in her grave right now."

"You are not inclined to be romantic."

"Are you mad? Of course I am! How else do you keep a grudge against the English for something that happened seven, eight centuries ago?"

I raised an eyebrow. Scotty grinned.

I waited.

"She's not the usual sort I'm attracted to. Now, I haven't been serious with many ladies—they become jealous that my first love will always be this Silver Lady," he clutched his heart dramatically.

I waited.

He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably.

"You know, Nyota and I, we barely have anything in common—except perhaps music—but even there I like old tunes my grandfather used to sing while she's dragging me to the opera. I'm up to my armpits in circuits and engine oil, and she sits at the communications station with those dangly earrings. Those sparkly little things are fragile! They got tangled in her hair once and I very nearly broke one of the pieces trying to get it out."

"Nyota is very fond of her accessories."

"Well, the only crystals I deal with are dilithium, not diamonds."

"You describe her as though she is unapproachable."

"She's the furthest thing from my world of grime and warp nacelles. Can you see her crawling under a leaking sewage pipe with a soldering kit?"

"Yes. If it was necessary, she would not hesitate."

Scotty looked thoughtful.

"I suppose yeah. If things were dire, she'd roll up her sleeves and get down to it. Asking what to do in that Starfleet voice of hers," he grinned at the thought. "The point is, when I first met her, I couldn't imagine her getting a speck of dirt on her. Not even a wee bit of lint. She looked so controlled and put together—and the pair of you were thick as thieves. Me? I signed up with this ship to get my hands dirty. And for the excitement, breaking all the laws of physics. Captain's very good at providing both."

"Agreed. I am curious, however, as to how your acquaintance with her began."

"Well she was interested in Scottish history—that's always a sign of impeccable taste and excellent character, if I do say so myself."

"Shared interests are a common starting point for friendships."

"Funny you mention it. I was giving her a lesson on some Scottish culture—well, more like my family's great and longstanding tradition—it's a great story actually, if I could remember all of it. I do remember the shock before passing out, watching her drain that glass. That reminds me, I should challenge her to a rematch."

"A rematch to..."

"She drank me under the table! My own moonshine, and she drank me under the table!"

My eyebrows went up.

"I don't care what you say, that's the absolute truth. That kind of talent demands respect. And I suppose that's how it all started."

I was at a loss for words.

"You and Nyota are, admittedly, quite dissimilar in some respects. And strangely similar in others."

"I'd say the same for you and the captain. I'll take that as evidence that it's true."

"To what are you referring?"

"Something my mother used to say about marrying my dad. They were complete opposites, strong willed and stubborn as pigs. My dad was a hot-blooded Highlander, and my mum a plain old ruddy Scotswoman—that ought to tell you something. The whole house'd fill to the brim with their rows. One day, after she says 'Monty'—that what they called me at home, Monty. That bleeding nickname 'Scotty' was at Starfleet, someone's idea of a clever joke. His last name is Scot! He's Scottish! He likes to drink Scotch! Come to think of it, it was my relativistic physics prof who came up with it. The man has no _sense_, humor or otherwise.

"Anyway, she says, 'Monty, you find a nice girl to settle with and marry, someone just like you. Don't believe the nonsense they say about opposites attracting.' I asked her why. 'Because, my dearest lad—opposites don't attract. They explode, fission and fusion going on at the same time. It's a law of this universe.' She had a point—they loved each other, there was no doubt of that. But they drove each other absolutely mental.

"I know I drive Nyota up the wall sometimes," Scotty grinned. "But we're all more than a little loony to be serving under Jim Kirk. I figure that right now, fusion/fission is a good way to be."


	148. Ch 148

I stand in front of him, my back to him. I am suddenly unsure of myself. We are in his quarters, standing in intimate darkness.

He steps forward and I can feel the coolness of his body near me. He steps forward again and our bodies are almost touching. I turn my head and see his figure in my peripheral vision. I look straight ahead again. My heart is pounding.

He places his left hand on the left side of the base of my neck, right where the neck curves into the shoulders. His right hand touches near my hip and I straighten. He leans in and I feel his inhale and exhale on my skin, then he kisses the right side of my neck, near the base of my skull. He kisses softly, lightly, and travels down slowly.

My breathing becomes more audible. I turn my head again and our faces are close. He continues to plant kisses along the inner curve of my neck. His body is flush against mine now, his hands skimming the border of my trousers. They travel upward to the hem of my undershirt. Jim's hands slowly pull the shirt up while I lean into him and he kisses the bone that protrudes along my spinal column. He continues to tease my neck until finally he tugs my shirt up in earnest and my arms raise on their own accord and my torso is bare. He steps back and I suppress a shiver from the exposure to the open air.

Jim closes the distance once more and he kisses along the bare skin of my shoulders while his hands travel along the plane of my stomach up to my chest. His touch sets my blood racing. His hands wrap around me, wandering all over me, tracing bones and the lines of muscle and making me excruciatingly aware of the structure of my body. One hand comes up and draws the line of my jaw. His index finger touches along my lips and I open my mouth and catch his finger between my teeth. My mouth closes on his finger and I alternately suck and tongue the digit. Jim inhales sharply. He kisses and nips my ear, all the while drawing his trapped hand back and turning me in the process until we are face to face. His pulls his finger out of my mouth and kisses me on my mouth fiercely.

Our hands go all over each other. I find the bottom of his shirt and pull it up, feeling the ridges of his ribs as I go. Jim raises his hands above his head and exhales when he is finally free of the shirt. We pause for a moment and he looks at me, placing his hands on my face. Then he takes charge again and kisses me.

His hands go from my face to my shoulders lightly down my back to the line of my trousers. His thumbs run under the cloth from back to front. They stay there while he continues to kiss me deeper and deeper, his tongue exploring every part of my mouth and he undoes the button and unzips. His thumbs skim over the line of my hipbone. The coolness of his hands on my skin down there is exhilarating. Jim begins to push my trousers down and he pauses.

"You're sure?" he whispers, his eyes dilated with aching and want, but lined with the determination to master himself if he must.

I reach down and unclip Jim's belt. I slowly pull the buckle out and drop it to the floor. I unbutton his trousers and undo the zipper. Jim shudders as my hands pull and his trousers fall. I step out of my own trousers and Jim watches, breathing heavily.

"You're really sure," he whispers again, voice strained. "There's no going back after this."

I step close to him and kiss his collarbone. Jim arches head back and I kiss along that arc, from the dimple between his collarbones to his adam's apple. I kiss the skin at the base of his ear and give my reply.

"I am sure."

Those three words were his undoing.


	149. Ch 149

Jim is sleeping. His arms are around me, cool and moist with sweat.

I extricate myself from his grasp, careful not to wake him. Silently, I gather my clothes and enter the fresher. After a brief sonic shower I dress, adjusting my clothing so that the various marks Jim made on my body might not be so visible. I attend to my disheveled hair. Once satisfied with my appearance, I exit the washroom.

Jim is still sleeping.

Before I can reign in the impulse, I reach out to him. My fingers trace along his eyebrows and the curve of his cheekbone. My lips curve in remembrance of our activities—arched bodies, gasps, his hands everywhere and the cool oblivion of release. As I recall every sensation, my hands whisper along his neck, his shoulders, down his bicep to the pale skin of his inner forearm, crisscrossed with veins. I stop short of his hands.

I realize that I cannot bear to steal a kiss from him, not like this.

Then, I freeze.

Jim is sleeping.

The truth—the nature of my actions towards him hit me in full force and something clinches inside my chest. Burning and fire, the emotions and thoughts he educes from me. No matter how I try to control the flame, no matter how many times I suppress the fire, it always rises up again with a vengeance. It will not be denied, it will not be stopped until I am wholly consumed. What pretensions I have of control are stripped away from me as I stare at Jim, his chest rising and falling. His skin is marked with signs of my strength and the uncontrollable ardor that smolders inside me, just as I am marked with tokens of his passion.

Familiar terror rises to my throat.

Yet another part of me wonders what it would be like to let go and lose myself in that fire. What would happen if I gave in? Part of me can only see the flickers of yellow and orange plasma, the certainty of being burned and charred until nothing is left but smoke and ashes. Another part of me sees another fire, found in the stars of the galaxy. Fusion. A fire where matter is not reduced to dust, but transformed. And with that transformation is a brilliant release of energy in the form of light, heat, radiation, enough to be detected across lightyears, enough to power the biological machinery of life.

If I gave in, would I become the fire?

Enough. These metaphors can have no real meaning.

Jim is sleeping.

I remove my hand. My hand curls into a fist, as though it's been burned. I straighten and quietly exit Jim's quarters.

When I reach the warm haven of my own quarters, I prepare myself for a deep meditative cycle.


	150. Ch 150

As is my habit, I went to Jim's quarters before we went on shift. He was not there. I proceeded to the cafeteria, where Jim was sitting at a table. His body was tense, radiating conflicting emotions. I sat down in front of him. Jim's eyes followed my every motion.

"Jim? Is there anything the matter?"

He gave me a look.

"Captain?"

"When I wake up alone in bed, I draw my own conclusions."

My brows furrowed.

"I do not comprehend your meaning."

"Bullshit."

Jim looked at me, his blue eyes fierce and blazing.

"You are upset."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"The fact that I chose not to remain with you after intercourse was complete has distressed you."

He threw his utensil down.

"I'm not fucking distressed, I'm _angry_. Does that compute for you?"

"Is it customary for humans to remain with their partners afterwards?"

"Apparently not for us."

Jim picked up the utensil again and attempted to begin eating again. He seemed, however, to have lost his appetite.

"Whatever. I'm done here."

Jim rose from his seat and took his tray to the waste receptacle. I wanted to stop him, but the location was too public. Too many were willfully ignoring us.

I quickly followed after him as he headed towards the turbolift. Before he disappeared into the lift, I intercepted his course and led him into an empty conference room.

"What the fuck?! You _leave_ while I'm sleeping, and now you shove me around? Screw you, I'm going on shift."

"It is unlike you to avoid confrontation, captain."

"There is no confrontation, Spock. You made that clear when you fucking _left_ after sex."

"Jim, I do not understand why my absence has made you angry. Vulcans do not sleep after sexual intercourse, nor do they see a need to remain in bed after such activities. We rarely require sleep, as meditation serves the same purpose."

"So you're telling me that Vulcans just do it, get up, and go back to business like nothing happened."

"Sexual intercourse between two Vulcans is a complex topic involving many components. Casual intercourse between individuals is rare. Typically, those who share a bond usually engage in a meld before, during, or after intercourse."

"Wait wait wait. A bond?"

"In simplified terms, it is a permanent telepathic link shared between two individuals. The exact nature of the bond is not fully understood."

"This thing can happen during a meld with any two individuals?" Jim looked slightly panicked.

"The bond can be formed in a variety of ways, but it is rare that it forms spontaneously. On Vulcan, children, particularly males, are traditionally bonded by the age of seven."

I could almost see Jim's mind racing and making a thousand connections.

"Are you already bonded? Is that why you didn't stay?"

"My bond with T'Pring was severed after I attacked another student at the learning institution in which I was enrolled. I have no information as to whether she survived the destruction of Vulcan."

"You attacked a kid at school?" he blurted out.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Comments were made concerning my heritage, particularly my mother. However, that is not the matter at hand. I did not realize that sleeping with one's partner after intercourse was an important part of Terran practices. It simply did not occur to me to remain. I apologize that I did not make certain aspects of Vulcan culture clear, and that my negligence led to this misunderstanding."

Jim looked at me, his expression somehow softer.

I willed myself not to turn away from his gaze, even while my mind brought forward other lies I had told by omission. I had already revealed to Jim more than I had planned concerning Vulcan forms of intimacy. For the moment, he seemed not to have noticed all of the information I had divulged.

A silence fell between us.

Then, Jim laughed. He exhaled and his body sagged with relief.

"This whole thing was a cultural misunderstanding?"

"It would appear so, captain."

Jim laughed again, shaking his head.

"A misunderstanding because Vulcans don't get tired after sex," he smirked. "This has got to be up there on my list of 'bizarre conversations I never thought I would be having with my First Officer.' Or anyone, for that matter."

"Then you understand that it was not my intent to cause you emotional pain or confusion?"

Jim looked at me, his brows furrowed. Again, I willed myself to meet his eyes, even as they pierced me and seemed to search me.

"I used to never stay after. I didn't pin you as the type to leave afterwards, so I guess I panicked when I woke up and found you were gone."

"I must confess to being puzzled, Jim. You stated earlier that it is customary among Terrans for partners to remain after intercourse, yet you admit that you did not observe that practice yourself."

"It's not just a matter of sleep, Spock."

I found myself apprehensive about the words that might follow.

"It's a—humans sleep together if they're—"

A pause.

"Do I really have to spell it out?"

"I believe I understand your meaning adequately."

Jim looked distinctly relieved.

"Good."

He kissed me. I responded. It seemed that the action reminded us both of the previous shift's activities and the kiss grew rougher. Jim was demanding, taking out his fear, anger, frustration, on me, wanting more.

We broke apart, our chest heaving and bodies thrumming.

"Duty," Jim rasped. "Oh, fuck."

I nodded, attempting to reestablish my equilibrium. I closed my eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

After a few moments, the charged silence between us stabilized, back to something less volatile. Jim's eyes were on me once more.

"Just to make it clear, I expect you to be in bed beside me after sex, when I wake up. That's an order."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Of course, captain."

"And we have a shitload of things we have to discuss. Including this bonding business that you just sprung on me."

I tensed.

"Though I wouldn't mind some bonding of the physical variety either," he grinned. "Too early to talk about experimenting with that, I guess? You seem pretty enthusiastic about most things."

"I have not changed my position with regards to experimentation."

An innuendo was in the tip of Jim's tongue, but I simply gave him a look.

"Right. Let's go up to the bridge."

I exited the room first. Jim followed behind me.

Before we joined the flow of people in the corridor, I felt Jim's eyes boring into my back, and felt the quiet whisper of his words.

"How is it that sometimes, I feel like I don't know you at all?"

We took our places at each other's sides and reported for duty on the bridge.

I am not certain that I was meant to hear that statement.


	151. Ch 151

"Captain Kirk, did you read the file that I sent you?"

"The one about the Verex III treaty?"

"Yes. It's the third treaty in a series between the Federation and the Orion system that established the longstanding neutrality of the Orions."

"I got up to Article 14, Section 9, Clause 'az'."

"In the original Andorian?" Lt. Shaw sounded impressed.

"Partly. I had to consult my First Officer every once in a while. Is it just me, or are the terms they use really vague? I hit a couple phrases that sounded like 'anything goes'."

"That's one of the things that I wanted to discuss with you today. The treaty was written and signed between the Federation and Orion before the Interstellar Language and Linguistics Council agreed to the form that Federation Standard would take. Even in the original Andorian and Orion, the terms of several key parts in the treaty are not specific. Translating the document into Standard renders it almost useless."

"Then why I am reading it? Not to complain or anything, but the thing's _really long_ for something that says nothing at all."

"Because the imprecise wording of the treaty has worked to the favor of the Orions and to the disadvantage of the Federation. What do you know about the Verex III planet?"

"We have intel that it's an Orion trading outpost, mostly for processing slaves."

"In other words, it's become the hotbed of a huge species-trafficking ring. Several investigations reveal that upwards of 750,000 individuals go through that planet every Terran year. However, so long as no Federation citizens are known to be taken, the Verex III treaty makes it impossible for the Federation to interfere and break up that flourishing trade."

"Wait, why the distinction of Federation citizens? And known to be taken? What the hell does that mean?"

"It's inevitable that a certain number of Federation citizens will be snatched and taken into slavery. As long as that number remains fairly low, it's not sufficient reason to break the treaties between the Federation and Orion. The slave trade is an extremely lucrative business and it brings in billions of credits every year to the Orion Syndicate."

"What about their government? Do they get a slice?"

"The official position of the Orion government is that they are not affiliated with the Syndicate. But that's not true, of course. The Orion Syndicate has a lot of sway there, not only monetarily but we know a lot of officials are on Syndicate payroll."

"So basically, as long as they take people from small and unprotected colonies, the Federation's not going to do anything about it? And the Verex III treaty lets Orions officially get away with it?"

"You have the right idea. But we know that Orions usually don't make raids for slaves in colonies. That's actually legitimate grounds for the Federation to break off relations with the Orions. The pirate ships around colonies are looking for other supplies and Federation commodities to sell on the black market. Orion merchants are shrewder about the slave trade.

"Most slaves actually come from the main planets, or well established colonies. It's a whole system. Trappers, as they're called, keep an eye out for runaways, waifs and strays, individuals who look like they have nowhere to go and no help available. They get kidnapped, lured—some even sign up—and get delivered to a smuggling ship that takes them to one of the many processing centers. Verex III is far from being the biggest one out there, but the Orions change the locations every so often.

"Other slaves are brought in by hunters. These slaves go for a premium on the market because they've been forced into slavery for some trait they have. Hunters sell their game to the Orions. Some professional hunters get requests directly from buyers, but for the most part they are another part of the supply chain. The Orions connect the products to the buyers, acting as middlemen. They're very good at finding, opening, and maintaining markets."

Leonard looked like he was going to be sick.

"Tell me again why the goddamn hell we deal with these bastards?"

"Part of it is that the Federation made a few key mistakes when they began diplomatic relations with the Orions. We didn't realize who they were until it was too late, and by that time, we couldn't afford to go back and start over. Neutrality was the best solution, given the circumstances at the time.

"Some others argue that it's better this way. The Orions dominate the black market, and everything is centralized. I know some people think that this allows us to keep better watch over the illegal activity that goes on in the Alpha Quadrant. As long as things don't get out of control and the Orions don't start seriously threatening the safety of the Federation, they think it's a parasite we can live with."

"Yeah? Well tell that to the people forced into slavery!" Leonard yelled.

Jim made no reply.

"That's not to say that the Federation stands idly by while people are being kidnapped. We prosecute trappers, hunters, merchants, pirates, every day. I just got through with a case right now where a hunter took a Starfleet engineer. It took four agents and a mountain of evidence to put them away. The hunter was former Starfleet too, a retired security officer. But I don't know if we'll ever go for the Syndicate.

"At this point, the reality is that the Federation can't afford another enemy. And there's the fact too that if the Orion Syndicate were ever to collapse, then there'd be a huge hole in the criminal underworld. Bloody wars would take place between factions trying to take over or carve out their place in the market. Maybe the Federation could have dealt with that a few years ago, but not now.

"That's why it's important that I go over every single Orion treaty with you, captain. You got very lucky with the medical supply mission. But you can't afford to make that kind of gamble again. As a symbol that is virtually synonymous with the Federation, an attack initiated by you against any government might be interpreted as a declaration of war by the Federation."

"Wait, I don't represent the Federation—"

"And the Federation will never grant you that authority. But in this case, what is important here is not the technicalities, but what others believe. Others think you represent the Federation, whether you like it or not. That puts you in a position of great responsibility. From now on, you have to think of the wider consequences of your commands."

Jim rubbed his forehead, his mouth set in a grim line.

"Fuck. Can I do _anything_ spontaneous anymore?" he said under his breath.

Lt. Shaw watched him from the video screen.

"Of course you can, Jim," Leonard said, putting his hand on Jim's shoulder. "You just keep doing what you do best. Spock's here to keep you in line. I'm here to sew your guts back together every time you decide it's been a while since you've had a friendly chat with the grim reaper. If you mess up, we're here. Lt. Shaw's just giving you a few pointers, is all. She'll cover your ass if things go south."

The captain looked back at the screen, eyes piercing.

Lt. Shaw smiled.

"Like what you see, captain?"

"Number One told me she had a lot of respect for you."

"I can forward my CV if you'd like. She and I are close friends, and when she told me you were being transferred to her command, I suggested this arrangement. I'd like the opportunity to work with you, captain. I know I haven't truly done anything yet to earn your trust, and to be honest, I hope I never have to prove it in court. My purpose here is to advise you and make sure you don't get caught up in or create unnecessary backlash just because you were doing your job.

"That being said, if you don't think we can work together, I'd be happy to forward you a list of Starfleet attorneys who'd love to be part of your team. The bottom line is that you need a legal consultant at hand, someone who knows the ins and outs of the law, the judicial system, who keeps up to date with all the diplomatic relationships, and someone who knows how far you can bend the law before you break it."

I believe it was the last statement that tipped the scales in Lt. Shaw's favor.

"So if shit hits the fan, you'll cover my back."

"I'll fight for you and every member of your crew every step of the way, captain."

"Then let's keep talking."


	152. Ch 152

"Nyota?"

"Yes?"

"Are you satisfied with your relationship with Engineer Scott?"

"Yes. It's still early—we just started dating, you know. It's only been a few days."

"There were signs that mutual attraction existed before that time."

"Neither of us acted on it for a while. We're taking it slow. Why do you ask?"

"I wanted to assure myself of your happiness. You were in a vulnerable state when I terminated our own romantic relationship. I do not want that to be repeated."

"First of all, we ended that a year ago. Second of all, I'll worry about getting hurt if or when it happens. It's okay. I'm not made of glass, Spock, I won't shatter. And besides, being afraid of something in the future you can't really control is a bad reason to deny yourself happiness now. I'm happy. I like him."

"He said the same thing with respect to you."

Nyota arched an eyebrow.

"You talked to him?"

"I wanted to ascertain his intentions towards you and ensure that they were honorable."

"Honorable? Spock, I'm perfectly capable of judging people's intentions for myself."

"I did not mean to imply that you are not. But," I paused. "You are ndugu."

She laughed, looking at me fondly.

"I should have known you'd play the overprotective older brother."

"I am not certain I understand."

"How do I explain," she considered her words. "Generally between human siblings, the older brother—or brothers in general—feel the need to protect the 'virtue' of their sisters from other males. Human fathers feel the same protectiveness towards their daughters, if my baba is any indication at all. He hated the thought of his princess going on a date with anyone. It was so annoying. And a little endearing, but it's not fun when your boyfriend is terrified of bringing you home ten minutes late."

Nyota shook her head, smile on her face.

"What reason do they give for this interference?"

"Vulcans don't have this kind of dynamic in their families?"

"No. While Terran society is largely based on a patriarchal model, in Vulcan families both partners are equal. In fact, the heads of ancient houses are typically female. The head of our house is T'Pau, and my father defers to her authority in matters concerning our family name."

"Oh," Nyota frowned. "Oh, and I forgot that children are put into arranged marriages, so there's not that much of a need to feel protective."

"It is expected that both sides will act in a rational manner. However, in the event that something does happen, it is understood that the whole family will support each other as a unit."

"As a unit."

She looked down at the sheet music on the table.

"That's what we have."

"Clarification?"

"Us. On the _Enterprise_. You, me, Jim, Leonard, Chris, Sulu, Pavel. Scotty. Anyway, the excuse guys always give is that they know what other males are thinking, having thought the same thoughts towards other females themselves, and they don't want that for their loved ones."

"Is that still true if either party is homosexual?"

"I think so. One of my girlfriends had a gay brother—he still adopted the same protective attitude towards her. If the sister is a lesbian, I'm not sure," Nyota paused. "I don't think human males traditionally view other females as a threat to their sisters and daughters, even though women can be just as vicious as men."

"Fascinating."

"Actually, one of the guys on the track team had a younger brother who was gay. _He_ was still really protective, to the point that I think he beat up a bunch of other guys when they were in grade school. It might be an older sibling-younger sibling dynamic," she sat down beside me. "Of course, not all family dynamics work this way. Just look at us."

"I do not think we should attempt to classify the dynamics of our 'family'."

"It'd be impossible," she agreed. Then, "Don't scare Scotty away."

"I will not. If you have no objections to the arrangement, then I will not interfere. However, if he should commit any wrong against you—"

"You'll take him out with a nerve pinch, I know. I thought Vulcans didn't believe in vengeance."

"They believe in balance and justice."

Nyota gave me a look.

"Furthermore, I am half human."

She laughed.

"Thanks. You don't need to do anything and I'll be fine, but thanks anyway."

I nodded, then went back to studying the sheet music before me.

For reasons unknown, I blurted out "I have a half brother."

"You have a half brother? Are we still talking about the _Enterprise_? I can kind of see you and Leonard as half brothers."

"Leonard McCoy? The Chief Medical Officer of this ship?"

"Don't sound so appalled," she teased.

"No, I was not speaking of the _Enterprise_, though I find the parallels strangely appropriate. My half brother is fully Vulcan, his name is Sybok. I have never met him. He is my father's son from an earlier marriage. By the time I was born, Sybok had already reached adulthood and did not reside in my father's house."

"He never came to visit?"

"My father disowned him. Sybok chose to reject the Vulcan way of life and embraced emotions. I am even uncertain as to whether he survived the destruction of Vulcan."

"Does your father know?"

"I am not sure. I believe he assumes him to be dead. Those who refuse to accept Surak's teachings are exiled from society and often lead vagrant lives in the desert. Some band together to form secret societies deep in the desert, but they would not have had access to a transporter there."

"I'm sorry."

"There is no need to apologize. I did not have any personal connection to him."

"But blood is blood. He was your half-brother."

I shook my head.

"I was not even aware of his existence until after Vulcan was destroyed. After the death of my mother, after my emotions were compromised, my father explained and apologized for his previous conduct and his disownment of me."

"He seems to like to do that, your father. Disowning his children," Nyota said, expression cool.

"Given his experience with Sybok, it was understandable."

"_Mchuma janga hula na wakwao_. That's how it should be."

"_Achekaye kovu hajaona jeraha_."

"Touché. Well, you still have Leonard."

"Nyota, while the doctor and I have reached an understanding, he is in no way related to me. It is impossible. And even if by some absolutely outrageous fluke of biology it turned out to be so, I believe he would be equally mortified by the prospect."

For reasons unknown, that statement struck Nyota as absolutely hilarious.

I tuned my lute as her laughter continued.

"Oh," she managed to say between laughs, "I've got to tell Scotty that one."


	153. Ch 153

"He's not talking."

"Captain, with your permission, I might engage in a mind meld to extract the necessary information."

"It looks like that's our only option."

"_Podozhditye_."

Lt. Chekov was looking intently at the file, then through the glass at the man sitting in the interrogation room.

"What're you thinking?" Sulu asked. "Think you can crack this guy?"

Pavel shrugged. "I can try."

Lt. Giotto and the captain exchanged looks. Nyota frowned.

"You want to give it a shot?" the captain asked.

"I don't think that's a good idea, sir. No offense towards the lieutenant, but he hasn't had any training in interrogation techniques, and may unintentionally violate the Starfleet codes."

"Giotto has a point. Chekov, tell me why you think you can take on this guy."

The lieutenant was silent for an interval.

"_Znayetye, on napominayet mnye mo__yevo__ brat__a_."

Nyota looked incredulous.

"Translation?" the captain demanded.

She looked at Pavel, who simply shrugged. Nyota straightened.

"He reminds the lieutenant of his brother, sir."

"And you think that's enough to get the info from him?"

"I am not promising anything, keptan. Maybe it is working, maybe it is not. If it is not, then Commander Spock is still able to be doing mind meld. _Mnye vsyo ravno_."

"Captain, I believe we should allow Lt. Chekov to interrogate the prisoner."

The lieutenant was studying the prisoner intently. Everyone else in the room was looking at him.

"Permission granted."

"_Horosho._ I will be right back. I am needing something."

He left the room quickly.

"Where's he going?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Giotto, turn on the universal translator. I'm not listening to an entire interrogation conducted in Russian."

"Aye, sir."

A moment later, Pavel entered the interrogation room holding a small box.

"What is that?"

"I can't tell, sir."

The lieutenant sat down, the motion casual. He fiddled with the box and slouched in his seat.

Sulu laughed.

Nyota gave him a sideways glance. "Care to explain the joke?"

"And what's in that box?" Giotto asked.

"Nothing illegal. Just watch."

The prisoner gave no indication that he was aware of or effected by the lieutenant's presence. Chekov continued to fiddle with the box, occasionally looking at the man seated across from him. After a few moments of silence, Chekov absently tapped the box against his palm, then opened it and drew out a cigarette. He fished around in his pockets and took out a lighter.

The sound of the flame and the smell of burnt paper and tobacco finally caught the prisoner's attention.

"_Hotitye_?" Chekov offered.

-want?

Lebedev made no motion.

Chekov slid the pack of cigarettes and the lighter across the table. The box stopped short of being within easy reach of Lebedev's cuffed hands.

The lieutenant continued to smoke, watching the prisoner with casual interest.

Lebedev sat up, outstretched his arms, and took the cigarettes. He took one to his mouth, put the box down, reached for the lighter, and after a few tries lit the cigarette. Lebedev took a deep drag and relaxed. He looked at the brand name.

"_Spasib. Gdye kupil_?"

-thanks. where bought?

"_Na chyornom rinkye, kogda mui buili na planetye Placer. Vui kogda-nibud buili_?"

-on the black market, when we were on the planet Placer. have you ever been?

"_Nyet. Sliushal mnogo o nei, no nikodga nye buila. Ponravilis_?"

-no. I've heard a lot about it, but never was. liked?

"_Ochen. Poshol s'druzyami, i ya kupil vot eti i vodku, kotoraya ya dumal, shto buil prodana tolko v Rossii._"

-very. I went with friends, and so I bought these and vodka, which I thought was only sold in Russia.

"_Zdorovo. __Vsyo__, prodavsh__i__ye __Orionami__._"

-cool. everything, sold by the Orions.

"_Tochno_."

-exactly.

Lebedev and Pavel sat, the silence now companionable.

"_Mozhno yesho odnu_?"

-can, one more?

"_Beritye. Krom'e menya, nikovo nye kurit na etom korable._"

-take. except me, no one smokes on this ship.

"_Spasib. Znayetye, ya sluzhil cheteri goda v Zvyoznom Flotye._"

-thanks. you know, I served four years in StarFleet.

Lebedev lit another cigarette, inhaled, then exhaled. He looked at Chekov.

"_Nash kapitan—slavniu malui. Gorazdo starshe chem Kirk, no on—kommandeer. U'nevo buil spokoinost v nutrii, ponimayete. __Nastoyashi__ muzhik._"

-our captain, a nice fellow. much older than Kirk, of course, but he commander. he was calm in inside, you know. real man.

"_Moi brat sluzhil c takim kapitanom. Vspomnitye reshitelnui boi s Klingonami_?"

-my brother served with such a captain. remember the decisive battle with Klingons?

"_Kak mogu zabuit_?_ Ya sam strelyal tekh ubludkov._"

-how can I forget? I shot those bastards.

"_Klasno._"

-cool.

"_Brat u'vas, tam buil_?"

-brother with you, was there?

"_Da, buil. Da i umer._"

-yes, it was. yes, and died.

"_Nu, tak buivayet._"

-well, it happens.

Pavel nodded, then took another cigarette. Lebedev finished his, crushing the stub against the table.

"Next time he does this, we should get an ashtray," Jim remarked. "No one told me he smoked."

"He picked it up when he was at uni."

"He told you this?"

"It came up. Pash doesn't smoke that often though."

Chekov slid the box and lighter across the table to Lebedev.

"What is it with Russians? They all smokers?" Giotto asked, brows furrowed.

"It would seem so," Nyota replied.

"_Ladno, nu davai koroche. Gdye ona_?"

-okay, well, let's shorter. where is she?

Lebedev looked at Chekov evenly and exhaled.

"_Ona nye naidena_."

-it was not found.

Chekov waited.

"_Oni otrezali yei golovu._"

-they cut off her head.

"Fuck," Jim breathed.

"_A telo yeyo_?"

-and her body?

"_Zola_."

-ash

They continued to smoke, the cigarettes slowly burning down to stubs. Lebedev flicked the ashes on the table, down on the floor. Chekov occasionally tapped his cigarette against the table ledge. His face was expressionless.

"Do you think he's telling the truth, sir?"

"Yeah. Yeah, Giotto, I think he's telling the truth," Jim closed his eyes.

Lebedev started on his fourth cigarette. Chekov flicked his stub onto the table.

"_Pochemu vui nye tak govorili ranshe, esli ona uzhe __buila ubyta_?"

-why did not you say so earlier, if she had been killed?

"_Oni bui verili v moi slova_?"

-they would believe in my words?

Chekov shrugged.

"_Nu, tak i buivayet_."

-well, that happens.

Lebedev nodded.

"_Horoshiye cigaretki, eti._"

-good cigarettes, these.

Chekov grinned. He took his lighter, left the cigarettes with Lebedev and exited the room. When he rejoined us, he reeked of the smoke.

No one quite knew what to say.

"You think he's telling the truth?" Giotto demanded once more.

"He is having no reason to be lying," the lieutenant shrugged.

Nyota was looking at Chekov, reevaluating all her impressions of him.

"That was a good job you did in there. Next time, we should just have you question everyone who comes through here," Jim said, tone light, eyes piercing.

"It will not be working with anyone else, keptan," he grinned. "I was getting lucky is all."

"The same lucky streak you get playing poker?" Nyota teased.

"_Mozhet buit._"

Sulu nudged Pavel.

"We should go. Gamma starts in half an hour."

"_Da_. Is that all you are needing, keptan?"

"Yeah, we've got it from here. We'll comm you if we need anything. Actually, while you're there, plot a course to Starbase 11. Number One's ordered us there, I'm supposed to meet with Lt. Shaw or something."

"Aye, sir."

"Uhura, send Starfleet a message, will you? About all this."

"You think this is the only information we'll get out of Lebedev, captain?"

"I don't think there's much more we can learn from him. Right now, we should focus on the fallout. We've got the perpetrators."

"Are you planning on sending them down to the planet to be tried?"

"Not a good idea. We're gonna hold them here, it's safer that way."

"Safer, sir?" Giotto's brows were raised.

"For the prisoners. Beheading and burning the body of the Crown Princess—someone might decide to kill them off in their sleep. No, we'll hold them here until I'm satisfied that these guys are held in secure facilities."

"Understood, sir. I'll draw up the roster for guard duty."

"Thanks. Take Lebedev with you, while you're at it."

Everyone went to their respective duties. Jim watched as Lebedev was escorted out of the interrogation room to be taken back to his cell.

He kept staring into the empty room.

"My crew's full of surprises."

I stood beside him.

"Do you think I should talk to him?"

"I overheard Lt. Chekov complaining that no one would play poker with him. His proficiency has turned into a hindrance."

Jim smiled. He kissed me.

"Captain—"

"I know, I know. Self control. My quarters tonight, or yours?"

"Yours."

Jim kissed me again.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, okay. I'll stop. Where're you headed?"

"The laboratory."

"I'll be on the bridge. Let me get a yeoman or something to clean up this mess Chekov left behind, and then we'll leave."


	154. Ch 154

"I used to smoke."

Jim and I are in his bed, naked and awake. His hand is in my hair.

"Just for kicks, you know? Back when I was a teenager, while I was getting shuffled around foster homes. I dropped the habit soon enough. Cigarettes are expensive. Not to mention illegal in most places."

"Legalities have never prevented you from doing anything, Jim."

He laughed, the sound rich and full, then kissed me along my jawline.

"You know what else is illegal?"

"Possibly 46% of the sexual positions you and I have tried in these past shifts. You enjoy that fact too much."

"It's not my fault you're so damn flexible. And they're technically not illegal in the Federation."

"Only certain Federation colonies, yes, I am aware of this. You still derive a perverse sense of enjoyment from it."

"I always wondered how the hell they enforce those laws. I mean, it's not like you can set up monitors to make sure everyone is doing it the 'right' way, whatever that is."

"I do not believe that those laws were written with the intention of being enforced. They act as moral declarations, associating those who engage in such sexual practices not only as perverts and deviants, but also as lawbreakers. It is an attempt to dictate the norms of individual behavior."

Jim groaned. "Can we not have a deep conversation about society and morality and rule of law and all that shit right after sex?"

"You do not find the topic interesting?"

"Maybe. But I'm _interested_ in something else, right now."

"I should never have told you that Vulcans do not get tired. You are using that fact to your advantage."

"My advantage? Hey, I give as good as I get."

"Indeed. However, I must point out that while I may not need sleep, you do. You cannot go through shifts by means of your willpower and several cups of coffee."

"Spock," Jim was kissing me down my abdomen.

"As your First Officer, it is my duty to ensure that your actions and decisions are sound and will not negatively impact the crew."

"Spock, shut up, I'm trying to seduce you."

"I am well aware of this, captain. I feel compelled to point out, however, that Dr. McCoy will come after us both if you continue to appear on duty having only had two hours of sleep."

Jim glared.

"You just had to kill the mood, didn't you."

"You need to sleep, Jim."

"I'm not tired."

I raised my eyebrows, then gripped Jim's upper arms, pinning them to the bed.

"I believe, as Lt. Chekov is fond of saying, 'I can do that'."

Jim grinned.


	155. Ch 155

"Spock? I hate to break it to you, but you suck at giving head. No pun intended."

My eyebrows went up.

"You do not find the experience pleasurable."

"Um, no, not really."

"Then the noises you produce have been artificial and forced, rather than involuntary."

"Kind of. Look, it's fine, I didn't want to offend you or anything. But yeah."

For reasons unknown, I was extremely insulted by Jim's statement and its implications. I do not 'suck' at anything. Which seemed to be Jim's point.

"Very well. I thank you for your notification of this situation."

"Spock, come on, don't get all uptight about it—"

"If you'll excuse me, captain. I have some experiments I must attend to in the laboratory."

I left Jim's quarters.

I made my way towards the lab. I attempted to pay no mind to Jim's evaluation of my sexual abilities, but it seemed to preoccupy me. I turned around in the corridor and proceeded to my quarters. I logged into my computer terminal and went through the trouble of disguising my address and adding additional security before I set out on my research.

I typed in 'oral sex Terran' and variations thereof on the nets and found several articles. For four hours, I read all there was to read on the topic. I studied diagrams, made notes, discovered several techniques of which I believe Jim also had no knowledge. That was to say he had yet to use them on me. I read and by the time I was done, I considered myself to theoretically be extremely proficient at 'giving head'.

Theories must be confirmed by concrete results. Science dictates that those results must be reproducible. I would have to test my newly acquired knowledge at least three times on Jim before I could declare myself truly proficient.

The time after our shift found me in his quarters, kissing him a little too hard. I drew blood from his mouth. Jim did not seem to mind. If anything, it aroused him further.

The articles mentioned that intent was important and that it would in turn affect the quality of the partner's experience. My intent was simple.

Make Jim beg for it.

I engaged Jim in possibly the most tortuous session of oral sex he has ever experienced. My timing was perfect—I knew precisely where to suck and nip and kiss and lick, precisely when to pull back to make him moan, and precisely how to use my Vulcan tongue to stimulate him. The result was satisfactory. Jim was gasping for breath, his hips bucking and his back arching, trapped between a state of ecstasy and anticipation.

"Spock—" he choked out. "Fuck, _please_."

I ignored him. After another forty seconds, Jim apparently could not take it anymore.

"Fuck you you Vulcan bastard stop fucking around and make me _come_ or I will fucking court martial you!"

I teased him for another twenty seconds, then obliged his request.

After Jim's orgasm passed, he opened his eyes and looked at me, chest heaving.

I looked at him.

"Say it."

"Mind blowing. You are fucking mind blowingly good at giving head," he kissed me. "Happy?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Your response is satisfactory. However, as a scientist, it would be negligent of me to come to any conclusion before I confirm that these results are reproducible."

Jim moaned. "I'm fucked. I'm so fucked in a such a good way."

"Indeed."


	156. Ch 156

"The distress call definitely came from one of the solar systems in this sector."

"Can you pinpoint it any closer, Lt. Palmer?"

"Negative. It was so badly garbled, all we got was the name Constellation, then we lost it."

Jim frowned, brows furrowed.

"Kirk to Uhura."

There was no answer.

"Lt. Uhura," he waited.

"Captain, Lt. Uhura is currently—"

"Jim?" Nyota's voice came over the comm, thick with sleep. "Something happening?"

"Report for duty, lieutenant. I need you up here."

"Give me five minutes and a shot of caffeine. Uhura out."

"Lt. Palmer, call Lt. Chekov in for navigation."

"Sir, we're now within the limits of System L-370, but I can't seem to locate anything," Sulu reported.

"Captain, sensors show this entire solar system has been destroyed. Nothing is left but rubble and asteroids."

"And the star? Nothing to show for it?"

"It remains entirely intact."

Jim stared at the viewscreen.

"Why does this feel like fucking déjà vu? Ship destroyed, planets disappeared, no sign of anything for lightyears around us. You're sure there weren't any lightning storms, no rips in the fabric of space-time? Everything checks out?"

"Affirmative, except for the fact that sensors show nothing but debris where the _République_ charted seven planets last year."

"Sulu, continue a search pattern."

"You got it, captain."

"Spock get your science people on this. I want answers."

--

"Entering the limits of System L-374, sir. My scanners show the same evidence of destruction."

"Any sign of the _Constellation_?"

"Not on my screens."

"Uhura, you picking up anything?"

"Captain, the two innermost planets of the system appear to be intact. Data on their condition is forthcoming."

"Sir, I'm picking up on a ship's disaster beacon."

"The _Constellation_?"

She nodded.

"I'm trying to raise it, but all I've got so far is the beacon. No reply."

"I have it on sensors, captain. By configuration, it is a starship drifting in space. Energy output is extremely low, severe damage detected."

"Give me a visual, put it up on screen. Sulu, approach course."

"It is possible that the _Constellation_ was wrecked by the same thing that destroyed these solar systems."

Jim's eyes focused on the image of the ship.

"Give me magnification, focused on the damage to the warp engines."

"What are you searching for, keptan?"

"Evidence that it's not what I think it is—oh fuck," he hit the command for red alert. "She was attacked. And we are sitting ducks right now. Sulu—"

"All my sensors are scanning right now for any immediate threat. Weapons teams reporting in, phaser banks are charged and ready to fire."

"I still haven't been able to raise the _Constellation_, sir. I'm getting the distress beacon, and something's causing an increase in subspace interference."

"How bad?"

"It's almost blocking the signal."

"Keep trying. Spock, give me analysis on the condition of that ship."

"All power plants dead, reserve energy banks operative at a very low power level, life support systems also operating at low power. Radiation levels tolerable. The entire Bridge is damaged and likely uninhabitable. The rest of the ship seems able to sustain life, but scans indicate that no one is on board."

"_No one_? Where the hell did they go?"

"All escape pods were jettisoned and all shuttles are missing."

"Uhura, have you gotten any signal from shuttlecraft?"

"Nothing, sir."

"Sulu?"

"Scans show nothing in the area. We would've picked up on them either in scans or transmissions if there were any survivors, sir."

"Maybe they are being on one of the two planets."

"Improbable, Lt. Chekov. The surface of the inner planet is composed mostly of molten lead. The other has an atmosphere poisonous to all organic life forms. The shuttle's meager environmental controls would not be able to sustain life for long. That, and the proximity to the star of this system make survival unlikely."

"Scan the planets anyway. Some of the people manning the shuttles might've gotten smart and maintained orbit around the planets. That's what I would've done."

"Already done, captain. I'll do it again, though," Sulu was already adjusting the controls of his scanners.

"Chekov, is it possible that a shuttle might be hanging out and using one of the planets as a blind spot? It stands to reason, if they were attacked."

"I am checking that and calculating, keptan."

"Okay, I'm going back down to yellow alert. Is it safe to board the _Constellation_? Life support isn't going to short out on me?"

"Affirmative."

"Kirk to Scott."

"Scott here, captain."

"Scotty, put together a damage control team and meet me in the transporter room in twenty minutes. We're going to board the _Constellation_ and see what we can salvage of her."

"Aye aye, sir. Is this a ship breaking expedition, captain?"

"Let's hope not. Kirk out."

"Spock, you've got the conn. Let me know if you guys find anything."

"Acknowledged."

--

"Spock, who's in Sickbay?"

"Dr. McCoy is on duty."

"We found a survivor. Commodore Ramesh Dandekar. It looks like he's in shock. Whatever hit them, it got them bad. The ship's a mess. Scotty says it's as bad a mess as he's ever seen. Warp drive's shot, but he thinks he can pull together the impulse engines. Phaser banks are at zero too."

"Will you be beaming back with the Commodore, captain?"

"Yeah. Tell Bones I'm on my way. You should probably come down to Sickbay too—I need answers. Dandekar isn't saying anything."

"Understood. Spock to transporter room. Beam the captain and commodore to the _Enterprise_. Lt. Uhura, I will be down in Sickbay with the captain. You have the conn."

--

"Go easy on him. The man's in shock," Dr. McCoy warned.

The doctor examined Commodore Dandekar with his tricorder. After frowning at the readings and grumbling under his breath, he took up his hypospray and measured out a dosage.

"You and that hypospray."

"Shut up, Jim," Leonard said while injecting the commodore.

The drug had a visible effect on the commodore, who seemed to rise out of a stupor.

"Commodore? Commodore Ramesh Dandekar? How're you feeling?"

"What—what happened? Where am I?"

"You're on the starship _Enterprise_, commanded by Captain James T. Kirk," Leonard motioned to Jim. "This is his First Officer, Commander Spock."

"My ship? The crew?"

"We were hoping you could tell us what happened to your ship and crew, commodore."

"A thing. Attacked. That, that thing."

Jim leaned in.

"What thing? What was it? Can you describe it? Do you remember any readings from scanners, sensors?"

The commodore shook his head, putting his hand to his face.

"Uhura to Sickbay, is the captain there?"

"Kirk here. What's up."

"Scotty found the duplicate commodore's logs, sir. He sent them over. I thought you'd like to know that, sir."

"Forward them to Bones' terminal, I want to listen to them here."

"Done."

"Thanks, lieutenant. Sulu or Chekov found anything?"

"Nothing, sir. No survivors."

Jim looked at the commodore, the muscles of his jaw tensed.

"All right. Kirk out," he set up playback for the logs on the terminal.

"Commodore's log, stardate 4202.1. Exceptionally heavy subspace interference still prevents our contacting Starfleet to inform them of the destroyed solar systems we have encountered. We are now entering system L-374. Science Officer Masada reports the fourth planet seems to be breaking up. We are going to investigate."

"We tried to contact Starfleet. No one heard. No one! We couldn't run. That thing—the thing!" the commodore began hyperventilating.

Leonard injected him with another dose.

"Commodore, what happened to your crew?"

"Jim, give it a second! For Christ's sake, back off and give the man some time to catch his breath!"

"I don't have time, Bones. There's a thing that destroys planets and starships loose in our galaxy, and I need to know what happened before it hits another system or us. We've gotten really lucky that none of these systems had planets that supported life. So, Commodore, with all due respect, what happened to your crew?"

"Evacuated. I ordered the evacuation. We were dead. No power, our phasers useless. I stayed behind, the last man. The captain, last man aboard the ship. That's what you're supposed to do, isn't it?"

Jim stiffened but said nothing. Commodore Dandekar continued.

"Most of them went to the third planet. Figured they could wait it out there until help came."

"Third planet?" Leonard frowned.

"Then it hit again. It hit again. They were down there, and I'm up here with a broken ship. Down there and it hit again."

"What hit? What attacked you, what's this thing you keep talking about?"

"They say there's no devil, captain, but it's real. Right out of hell, I saw it! Right out of hell!"

"Commodore, calm down. I can't keep giving you shots. Breathe."

"There's no third planet," Jim exhaled and closed his eyes.

"Don't you think I know that?! It was there, there it was, but not anymore. I watched that monster and the shuttles trying to escape, four hundred people all comming me at the same time to give status reports and then—gone. Screaming and static. Some asking for help and I couldn't. I couldn't!"

The commodore broke down in gasps and tears.

"Uhura to Sickbay."

"Kirk here. Can it wait?"

"Scotty's got a full report on the structural damage to the _Constellation_. Do you want me to put him on hold?"

"No. Might as well hear it. Put him through."

"Captain, Scott here."

"Let's hear it. Got any good news for me?"

"I've got some not entirely bad news. We made a complete check on the damage to the ship. It's a doozy—the deflectors show signs of being overstrained and after a final blow, they just collapsed. Something crashed through and knocked out the generators. What gets to me, though, is that the antimatter in the warp drive pods has been deactivated."

"Deactivated? How is that even possible?"

"Well, me and the lads were thinking that if you had some kind of energy dampening field, it _might_ do the trick. Might."

"Captain, that would also account for the heavy subspace interference."

"Aye, it all adds up."

"'It all adds up?' Scotty, that's the biggest load of pseudoscience I've ever heard come out of your mouth."

"It's the best we were able to think of for now. I haven't got the slightest clue about any other possibility. I'll give another update as soon as I can. Scott out."

"Why the fuck can't I get any solid information on this thing?"

"If you'd seen it, you'd know," Commodore Dandekar said, voice haunted but eyes alert. "The whole thing's a weapon. It has to be."

"Like Red Matter?"

"No. No, it's kilometers long. Enormous."

"A ship? Is it manned?"

"Not that I could tell. It's like nothing I've ever seen before. Bigger than the _Narada_, I'd guess. It's got an opening in front that could swallow a dozen starships. Destroys planets with some kind of energy beam that chops them into rubble, then sucks it all into itself."

"Do you think it's an organism? Something alive? An alien life form that feeds off planets?"

"I don't know. I don't know. We went in to look at the fourth planet as it was breaking up, sensors went nuts with readings of antiprotons and neutronium. The beam—it didn't seem possible, but it was pure antiproton."

"Pure?" Jim's eyes widened.

"Absolutely. Sliced through the planet like it was butter."

"Shit."

"Commodore, you mentioned the presence of neutronium?"

"It's protected by a solid casing of neutronium that must be kilometers thick. Our phasers didn't make a dent even after we exhausted every single bank. I've never seen anything like it. Whoever made it wanted it to be indestructible."

"There's got to be a weakness. Nothing's invincible. Did scans show any kind of weak spot?"

"Nothing. The only thing not covered in neutronium is the opening, but that's where the antiproton beam comes out. We fired photon torpedoes, but everything just disintegrated against the beam. But," the commodore frowned. "But, a few got through. Masada reported a slight but definite drop in energy output, as though we did a little damage."

"You're sure?"

The commodore slumped.

"No. Those readings disappeared after it consumed the third planet, as though it recharged."

"Uhura to Sickbay."

"Yeah? Got anything else for me?"

"Captain, we're unable to raise Starfleet Command due to heavy subspace interference. My team's attempting to remedy that. Chekov and the Science Department ran some more analyses on the information from the _Constellation_."

"Keptan, the thing is amazing. It is a giant automated weapon and by my calculations, almost breaking all the laws of physics in power. We are thinking that it goes around munching planets like cookies, sucking in the debris by trapping it in a localized force field, and conwerting that for fuel."

"So it's the usual unstoppable humongous self-sustaining weapon that we face every day."

"_Da_, keptan. _Tochno_," Chekov's replied, obviously amused.

"Glad to know that the universe likes to vary it up. God knows what we would do if we actually faced, oh I don't know, a normal weapon of mass destruction."

"I am thinking we would be dying of boredom, sir."

"It keeps us on our toes," Sulu said.

In the background, we heard the bridge crew laughing.

The screen switched back to Nyota. She showed several graphs in rapid succession as well as pages of calculations.

"That was for Spock. Did you get it all?"

I nodded, reviewing everything in my memory, compiling the data and processing everything I had seen.

"What was that?"

"Those were all the reports I've gotten from the Science Department. They've been hoping that Spock could pull everything together and connect the dots. Jokes aside, captain, this really does look serious."

"More than serious," all the data fell into place in my mind. "I have just computed the path of the weapon using the information that the lieutenant provided. Projecting back on our star charts, I believe this object came from outside, from another galaxy."

"But what about the barrier? No, scratch that, what's the projected course of this thing?"

"Difficult to predict. However, if it follows the general trajectory of its present path, it will go through the most densely populated section of our galaxy."

Silence reigned.

Jim cleared his throat.

"Like, I said, it's a good thing the universe _doesn't_ vary things up."

"Then we'd really be dead," Sulu replied.

The tension disappeared.

"All right. Keep me updated. Everyone, stay focused. We'll figure something out. Kirk out."

"Hey Jim, have you ever heard of 'doomsday machines'?"

"No, but the name kind of gives it away."

"That's what this thing sounds like."

"Oh forget about your theories! That thing is on the way to the heart of our galaxy. What're you going to do about it, Kirk?"

"Take it easy, commodore. Spock, what's the likelihood that the weapon will come back around to finish off the other two planets?"

"Unlikely. I believe it has moved on towards its next destination, the Rigel system."

"ETA?"

"Unknown. We have no idea of the current position or velocity of the weapon."

"Okay. I'm gonna head back to Commodore Dandekar's ship and do one last check of things there. When I get back, I want to hear all my options."

"Understood."

"I'm going back to my ship."

"Commodore, you're staying right here. You're in no condition to go anywhere. I've still got tests to run and symptoms to monitor. You've just come out of deep emotional shock."

"I'm fine. Let me go back to my ship, I'm not leaving her there—"

"We won't leave the _Constellation_. The impulse engines are still alive, I'll talk to Scotty to see what we can do about taking her in tow."

"I—"

"Commdore, do you really want me to use my authority as CMO to keep you here?"

"It's just," the commodore looked away. "I've never lost a command before. All my years in the service."

Leonard put his hand on the commodore's shoulder.

"The captain'll do his job. Now you sit back and let me do mine," he turned to us. "Jim, Spock, you best be going. I've got this under control."

"We'll do everything we can, commodore."

--

Before we enter the transporter room, a feeling of foreboding fills me. I stop Jim. He looks at me.

"Jim, I—"

He firmly grips my shoulder, the distance between us slightly less than what is considered appropriate.

"Don't worry. It'll work out."

I nod.

"Be careful."

"Me?" he smiles. "Never."

He walks to the transporter pad and nods at Lt. Kyle.

"Energize."

I return to the bridge.


	157. Ch 157

Red alert.

"Spock, what's going on? What's happening to my ship?"

"Are sensors operational on the _Constellation_?"

"Nope. We're sitting blind. It showed up, didn't it."

"The weapon came up on us fast, captain, but Lt. Sulu has been able to maintain an acceptable distance."

"Anything new on the planet killer? Or is it pretty much as Commodore Dandekar described?"

"Our scans confirm the Commodore's account. The outer shell of neutronium is so thick that our sensors cannot penetrate beyond it to gather information on the internal mechanism."

"Do you think it's alive? Or manned? Or programmed? Chekov said it was automated—have anything to support his theory?"

"I have no definite answers to any of our questions. All three options are possible, they are not mutually exclusive."

"Sulu?"

"We're more maneuverable, but the thing's gaining on us, slowly. My best guess is that it has some kind of total conversion drive."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean it's converted all the planetary matter it ate to energy and it's gunning for the next star system as fast as it can before it runs out of gas. That's what it looks like from my scanners anyway."

"Captain, if it's some kind of automated machine, then couldn't we deactivate it?"

"What do you think Spock? I think Uhura's got a point."

"I would say not, sir. Dr. Schiesswohl hypothesizes that the weapon is attracted to certain forms of energy. She believes that the energy generated by our power nacelles has brought the weapon on our trail. I have great faith in Lt. Sulu's skills as a pilot, but I doubt we could maneuver close enough without drawing a direct attack upon ourselves."

"Not to be mentioning the neutronium armor of the _oruzhiye_. That is making it wery difficult to be finding and accessing any controls. If they are existing. Maybe it is on permanent autopilot with no 'off' button."

"Lt. Chekov's suggestion is not improbable, given Dr. McCoy's hypothesis that this is a kind of 'doomsday' weapon."

"You know, maybe we don't need to attack at all," Scotty said, his tone thoughtful.

"What do you mean?"

"If the thing's making a beeline for the closest star system but it's attracted to energy, maybe we can keep its attention on us and run it in circles. Force it to exhaust all its fuel."

"That'd be great, Scotty, but it's kind of gaining on us. And we might run out of fuel before it does," Sulu replied.

"Your suggestion also precludes the possibility that it has a mechanism by which it overrides certain components in its programming while fuel levels are low. It may ignore us and continue on to Rigel."

"That 'while' loop is simple enough to code, and dead useful. I'd put that in, if I were ever to build a self-sustaining doomsday machine. It fits the design philosophy."

"What do you suggest we do, captain?"

"Well, Scotty and I are done here. Lower your deflector screens just long enough to beam us and the team aboard. Sulu, keep our distance."

"Trying, captain. Having the _Constellation_ in tow is messing controls up, though."

"Transporter room, stand by to beam the damage control team aboard."

"Ready to beam, sir."

Chaos.

Everyone on the bridge springs to action.

"Captain Kirk, come in please—"

"Shields at 86% sir—"

"Energy blast from the weapon—"

"Scanning all sectors—"

"Damage report, all stations—"

"Transporter room to bridge—"

"Spock, what the hell is going on up there? Anyone injured?—"

"Evasive action, Lt. Sulu."

"We've lost the _Constellation_, sir."

"Transporter room to Commander Spock, transporter room to Commander Spock."

"Spock here, Lt. Kyle."

"The transporter's out. Evaluating damage right now. No one was being beamed, so all parties are intact on the _Constellation_. I repeat, transporter is out but the team's still on the _Constellation_."

"Acknowledged."

"Sir, communications have taken a hit. We're unable to override interference."

"Estimated time for repair."

"Unknown sir."

"Status reports on all sectors?"

"No casualties, engineering reports that impulse and warp engines are intact with no damage."

Commodore Dandekar appeared on the bridge, Dr. McCoy following after him.

"Commander Spock. Status."

"Are you insane man?! I haven't run your psych evals yet and I haven't cleared you for duty!"

"This is an emergency situation, doctor. Now, commander, give me ship's status."

I raised an eyebrow at the commodore's imperious tone. Some bridge personnel looked at him incredulously.

"The weapon fired its energy beam once—analysis reveals that it was not pure antiproton, which suggests that the weapon has different modes of operation. Impulse and warp engines are fully operative, transporter and communications under repair. Random chance seems to have operated in our favor."

"In plain, non-Vulcan Standard, we've been lucky."

"I believe I said that, doctor."

"We're incredibly lucky. The thing's veering off sir, back on course for Rigel," Sulu said, hands steady at the helm.

"Sir, I think it's been programmed to ignore objects of a certain size. The two innermost planets of the L-374 were unusually small and left intact."

"Your hypothesis has merit, Lt. Uhura. Lt. Sulu, maintain a discreet distance and circle back to pick up the captain. Lt. Chekov, calculate the projected course of the object. Lt. Uhura, have you been able to notify Starfleet command of this development?"

"Negative. We're still effecting repairs on our systems, and recalibrating everything will take some time."

"You can't let that thing reach Rigel! Millions of innocent people will die!"

"I am well aware of the Rigel system's population, commodore. However, the fact remains that we are only one ship. Our deflector shields are strained, our subspace transmitter is currently out of commission. We have no idea how to disable the weapon—if it can indeed be disabled—and without such a plan, any action, any attack is reckless and even suicidal. Our primary duty is to survive and find a means by which to notify Starfleet Command."

"It'll be like Vulcan all over again!"

The bridge went silent, save the signals from the terminals.

"I am well aware of the circumstances surrounding the destruction of Vulcan."

"And do you remember that our primary duty is to maintain the life and safety of Federation planets? Do you deny that?"

"I do not. However, as I am currently in command of this ship, we will go back, retrieve Captain Kirk and our Chief Engineer Lt. Commander Scott, then consider again the options available. Lt. Sulu, you will lay in a direct course back to the _Constellation_."

"Aye aye, sir."

"Belay that order, helmsman. One hundred and eighty degree turn, hard about. We're going to get that thing before it gets Rigel."

"You will carry out my last order, Lt. Sulu. Dr. McCoy, I believe your patient is due for a psychological evaluation in Sickbay."

"Mr. Spock, I'm officially notifying you that I'm exercising my option under regulations as a Starfleet Commodore, and that I am assuming command of the _Enterprise_."

"You have not been cleared for duty by the Chief Medical Officer who, in this situation, overrides your authority as commodore."

"Starfleet protocol explicitly states that in emergency situations, the ranking commander on board a vessel may relieve the captain or active captain of their charge. This is an emergency, and I'm fully within my authority to take command."

"'The ranking commander of the vessel may relieve the captain of his charge _if the captain clearly demonstrates an inability to make decisions, if his decisions are judged unsound, if he presents a danger to himself and the welfare of the ship_—"

"And your decisions are unsound! I'm taking command of this ship and if you keep fighting me on this, then the first thing I'll do when I get on a starbase is charge you for insubordination and see you court martialed."

"Now look here, commodore, it doesn't take a genius to see that you're not thinking straight. I had to dose you three times while you were in shock—"

"Every second you spend challenging my authority, that weapon gets closer to Rigel. Any man would go into shock after seeing something like that, but I'm over it now because I've got to fulfill my duty _to the Federation_. This entire crew has forgotten that our first loyalty as members of Starfleet is to the Federation—not the captain, not the commander, but to the United Federation of Planets. That's the authority I call on, and that's the authority you're going to obey."

"You have the right to follow this course of action, but I would advise against it."

"You've made that clear enough. But that thing must be destroyed, and that's my first priority."

"You tried to destroy it once before, Commodore. The result was a wrecked ship and a dead crew."

"I know more about it now. We were too far away. This time, we'll hit it with full phasers at point-blank range, ram it right down its throat."

"You cannot know if this strategy will be successful. A single ship cannot combat it."

"Commander Spock, that will be all. You have been relieved of command. Don't force me to relieve you of duty as well."

I looked at the commodore, then stepped out of the command chair. I returned to the science station. Leonard followed me.

"You can't let him do this, Spock!" the doctor all but exploded.

"Doctor, you are out of line," Dandekar said sharply.

"So are you!" he yelled. "Sir."

I focused on the sensors and data before me, trying to find a means by which we might destroy the weapon.

"Well, Spock?" he hissed.

"Unfortunately, Starfleet Order 104, Section B, Paragraph 1A leaves me no alternative."

"To blazes with regulations! The devil's got more sense than playing tea party with a doomsday machine! You can't let him take command when you know he's wrong!"

"Ironic, doctor. That is precisely the reason why Commodore Dandekar relieved me of command."

"Go to hell."

"Doctor, you know the procedure. If you can certify Commodore Dandekar medically or psychologically unfit for command, I can relieve him under Section C. Given the extenuating circumstances, your evidence must be absolutely certain and if your decision ever comes under review, you will be asked to produce your medical records to prove it."

"You know I haven't had the time to run a full eval on him!"

"Then your statement would not be considered valid."

"What about Jim? And Scotty?"

"Doctor, you may leave the bridge. I won't have you encouraging mutiny here."

"Spock, do something!"

"Commander Spock knows his duty under regulations, doctor. Do you?"

Dr. McCoy fumed, then left. Nyota looked at me, her eyes full of understanding. I redirected my focus to the sensor scans.

"Hard about, helmsman. Course 32 degrees, mark 10. Shields, navigator?"

"They are at full power, commodore," Lt. Chekov replied, voice clipped and professional.

"Phasers?"

"Weapons teams waiting for your command, commodore."

"Fly us in closer to that opening, helmsman."

"Pasha, give me fifteen percent on impulse, I'll do the rest with thrusters."

"Okay, happy to."

"On my count. Three, two, one."

The ship jolted.

"Shit, decrease impulse. The thing's force field is interfering with my controls. We're closing in too fast."

"_Sdelal_. Commodore, shields draining fast. They can't be taking much more."

"Commodore, I urgently recommend immediate withdrawal."

"Recommendation noted, commander. Helmsman, hold your course. Stand by all phaser banks. Aim straight down the middle and on my command, pour it on."

Sulu's hands were steady, even as the ship jerked and shuddered.

Then, several things happened at once.

Sulu's hands flew across the panel as he accelerated the ship—

Without warning, without any sign on the sensor readings, the weapon fired at us—

The commodore ordered a heavy round of phaser fire—

—as he accelerated the ship up and away from the energy beam—

—the weapon fired at us and the already weak shields buckled and pure antiproton sliced through—

—round of phaser fire and sensors showed that several hits successfully went through—

—away from the energy beam before the antiproton could streak through the entire ship and leave us in worse condition than the _Constellation_.

—pure antiproton sliced through setting off explosions, compromising the outer hull.

—several hits successfully went through and the detectable energy output of the weapon definitely decreased.

"What were you doing?!" the commodore yelled at Sulu.

"Sir, if I didn't get us out of there we'd all be dead," he replied, voice flat.

"I never issued an order, we were in perfect position to fire and destroy it completely—"

"It would've destroyed us first—"

"Sir, Deck Seven reports power failure in main energizers, they are implementing emergency procedures. Decks Three and Four report severe casualties. Damage control party is sealing off an inner hull rupture," Nyota's voice over the chaos. "Engineering reports that the warp nacelles have been compromised."

The ship jerked violently.

"Commodore, we are being held in a tractor beam, pulled inside. We must veer off."

"Fire phasers!"

"We have lost warp power. If we don't break the tractor beam within sixty seconds, we never will."

"But don't you understand? We've got to destroy it!"

"That, sir, is illogical. It is suicide. Attempted suicide would be proof that you are psychologically unfit for command. If you do not veer off, I will relieve you of duty on that basis."

"Forty seconds," Sulu counted.

Commodore Dandekar stared at the viewscreen.

"Thirty five."

"Veer off."

"Pasha, give me emergency impulse power. Everything you've got."

"That is all we are hafing."

"It's not enough."

"Where is Scotty when we are needing him?"

"Engineering's doing the best they can, guys," Nyota said, managing multiple communications at her station.

The ship was slowly being pulled inside.

"If we are getting out of this alive, I am promising to never complain about engineers again."

"Enough to study it?" Sulu managed, hands clenched on his controls.

An idea.

"Fire photon torpedoes, Lt. Sulu," I ordered.

"I'm in command here!"

"Firing the photon torpedoes may decrease the energy reserves of the weapon, thus weakening its tractor beam and allowing us to break free. Furthermore, if we disable the mechanism that compensates for the momentum change after firing the photon torpedoes, the momentum released will give the ship an extra push and increase our chances of escape. Lt. Uhura, give me the weapons teams."

"Done."

"Weapons teams, this is Commander Spock. Turn off the momentum controls on the photon torpedo barrels. Fire all photon torpedoes point blank into the target."

The ship shook with each photon torpedo.

"Lt. Chekov?"

"We are breaking even."

"Full power astern," Dandekar ordered.

"Already did that sir. We still can't move," Sulu replied.

"Maybe if we are doing same trick as the keptan when we were trying to be escaping the singularity—"

"Lt. Chekov, I will only consider ejecting the warp cores as our last and final option. It is, of course, the commodore's decision."

Suddenly, an object flew past the ship, down the canal of the doomsday machine and exploded in the center. The tractor beam disappeared and the ship suddenly flew backwards. Lt. Sulu readjusted all controls until the ship was flying steadily again, maintaining a safe distance.

"What the hell—?"

"It's the _Constellation_!"

I could kiss Nyota.

The readings from my science station were clear.

"It seems, Lt. Chekov, that the captain and Engineer Scott thought to do the same thing. The objects that just passed us were the dead warp cores of the _Constellation_. The explosion we witnessed suggests that the warp cores were not completely dead, but could not provide enough power for the jump to light speed."

The bridge was filled with renewed energy and confidence, the ugly tension dissipating.

"Now's our chance."

"Commodore, I suggest that—"

"Kirk pulled us out by distracting it. Now it's our turn, this is our chance to really get it. Helmsman, move into position and then fire all phasers!"

"Sir, it's closing in on the _Constellation_. Captain's got plenty of impulse power—how did Scotty manage to get that thing _moving_?"

"Move into position, helmsman!"

"We're getting in position, commodore. I'm doing the best I can given that the ship's thrusters are damaged, our impulse engines aren't at 100%, and the precision of my controls are one busted capacitor away from going up in smoke."

"I am thinking that the doomsday is hafing defensive sphere. Anything that is attacking, it is attacking back and now pursuing the keptan."

"It is strange, however, that the weapon is not able to cope with the presence of two opponents. Its pursuit of the _Constellation_ appears almost singleminded, as though it has forgotten us entirely."

"We'll use that to our advantage. Between us and Kirk, that thing'll be destroyed. Communications officer, give me a status report."

"The engineers say that warp drive and shields will be out for three shifts. Repairs are still ongoing with the transporter and communications."

"Commodore, it is illogical to continue our pursuit of this weapon. The fact that it is unable to attack effectively against multiple opponents can be used to better advantage if we escape the machine's subspace interference, warn Starfleet, and gather with a force of ships. We may be guaranteed of the safety of Rigel and the complete destruction of the weapon in this manner, without unnecessarily risking the _Enterprise_ or her crew. I recommend that we retrieve the captain and the others from the _Constellation_ and then proceed along this course of action."

"No. I've got this monster right where I want it."

"And where is that, sir? When you took command of this vessel, you stated that we owed our allegiance to the Federation. It is for that reason that we have obeyed your orders, no matter how ill conceived we believed them to be. We have done our duty and heeded your every command. Your words and actions, however, suggest that you are acting out of a misguided sense of loyalty to your former crew—that your primary objective is not the safety of Rigel and protecting the Federation, but avenging their deaths. You are hunting this machine for personal reasons, choosing the irrational course of action that not only endangers us, but also the Federation.

"If we are unsuccessful in this endeavor, if the _Enterprise_ and the _Constellation_ are consumed by another beam of antiprotons, then Starfleet will never be warned of this threat. The machine will continue on to Rigel and that colony will be completely unprepared and unprotected, its population consumed. Are you willing to take that risk? Where does your own sense of duty lie, commodore?"

"Commander Spock, we've pierced the interference locally. I've got ship to ship—the captain's on the line."

"_Enterprise, Enterprise_, come in, damnit! Spock, what the fuck are you doing to my ship?!"

"Jim, I—"

"I am in command here, Mr. Spock. I will speak for this ship."

"Of course, commodore."

"_Enterprise_ to Kirk. Commodore Dandekar speaking."

"Commodore? What's going on? Why're you on the bridge? Give me Spock."

"I'm in command here, captain."

"What happened to Spock?"

"Nothing. I assumed command according to regulations. Since your First Officer was reluctant to take aggressive action against the weapon, I relieved—"

"_What_?! You mean you're the idiot who's responsible for almost destroying _my_ ship?"

"You are speaking to a senior officer, Kirk."

"Give me Spock."

"I told you, just as I told your crew, your CMO, and Commander Spock. I am in command here, according to every rule in the book. Anything you have to say at all, you will say to me."

"There's only one thing I've got to say to you, commodore. Get my ship out of there. Notify Starfleet command of the threat and bring a few more starships so that we can actually kill this thing."

"Kirk, I—"

"Don't tell me you didn't notice that it can't handle more than one attacker at a time! Just do it—get out of range and get some more firepower here! I'll keep its attention."

"It's gaining on you, captain," Sulu remarked.

"Then better make it quick. What the hell are you waiting for?"

"We're moving into position to fire another round, Kirk. That's my decision, my plan. We're going to destroy it once and for all."

Silence.

"Get me Spock."

"Kirk—"

"Give. Me. Spock. Now."

Commodore Dandekar looked at me. I raised an eyebrow.

"Down here," he motioned to the captain's chair.

"Captain."

"Spock. Status."

"Warp drive out, shields down, transporter under repair, on emergency impulse power. All photon torpedoes fired, phaser banks charged. We have sustained casualties. Hull compromised. We cannot survive another energy attack by the weapon."

"Repairs?"

"At least three shifts. Likely longer if Mr. Scott is not present. At our present rate of consumption, we will exhaust impulse power long before then."

"Think you can hold out long enough to get through to Starfleet?"

"Affirmative."

"Then do it."

"I told you, I am in command here and I will give the orders, Captain Kirk. We're going to attack."

"Not with my ship. Spock, relieve Commodore Dandekar, though I can't believe you let him have command in the first place. That's a direct order."

"You can't relieve me and you know it. According to regulations—"

"_Fuck_ regulations! Do it, Spock."

"Commodore Dandekar, you are relieved of command."

"I don't recognize any of this. You don't have the authority to relieve me."

"You may file a formal protest with Starfleet Command, assuming we survive to reach a starbase. If you do not vacate this seat, I will put you under arrest."

"You wouldn't dream of it. You're bluffing."

"Lt. Giotto, please send a security detail to escort Commodore Dandekar to the brig."

"Aye aye, sir."

Commodore Dandekar looked at me, expression agape.

"Vulcans never bluff, commodore."

He looked around the bridge. Nyota's face was carefully blank, Sulu focused on his controls. Pavel grinned. The other members of the bridge remained on task, though it was clear they were fully aware of the conflict.

"Very well, Mr. Spock. The bridge is yours."

Right at that moment, the security officers arrived.

"Lt. Unlayao, you and the team will escort the Commodore to Sickbay. He is due for a medical examination."

"Yes, sir."

"Captain, I have assumed command of the _Enterprise_."

"Never should've given it up in the first place. Next time, don't let some asshat of a commanding officer do that again."

"His reasoning was sound at the time. Captain, we are taking an evasive course back to the _Constellation_."

"What? Why?"

"I believe the _Enterprise_ has greater need of Mr. Scott than you, at the moment."

"Things're that bad?"

"You have no idea," Sulu replied.

"Lt. Chekov, have you laid in a course."

"_Da._ ETA at 14:13."

"All right. I'll tell the damage control team to wrap it up here and get ready to leave. Kirk out."

"Spock, I'm getting something in from the security team."

"Lt. Unlayao."

"Sir, we've got a hostage situation down here. Commodore Dandekar's got a phaser and one of our guys."

"Lt. Unlayao. Kindly explain how this occurred."

"It's chaos down here sir with all the casualties, repairs going on. Dandekar took us by complete surprise, busted up two of the guys, took their phasers, and grabbed an ensign passing by hostage. We're at a standoff right now—he's hiding out in a shuttlecraft hangar."

"Commander, shuttlecraft _Gemini_'s doors have been opened and the shuttlecraft is being launched."

"Lt. Uhura, open a channel to the Commodore."

"Kirk to _Enterprise_. Spock, why are you launching shuttlecraft that's headed directly for the weapon?"

"It is Commodore Dandekar, captain."

"_Enterprise_ to Commodore Dandekar, _Enterprise_ to Commodore Dandekar, come in please."

Silence.

"Dandekar here."

"Commodore, I must insist that you and the ensign you hold hostage return to the ship."

"No. It's just me. I left the ensign on the ship, unharmed. I promise you."

"Dandekar, this is Kirk."

"Captain. My apologies for using your ship so recklessly. You'll have to loan this shuttle to me permanently."

"Commodore, you cannot think to—"

"Ramesh, listen to me—"

"No, I'm going to ram this thing right down its throat. I'll send as much data back to the _Enterprise_ as I can. But you were right, Mr. Spock.

"I've got to do this for my crew. That's where my duty is. Where my loyalty lies. You don't know what it's like, serving alongside them every day for years, then a second later, gone. All of them dead, and you're helpless to stop it. Watching, listening to them maintain their Starfleet bearing, facing death and trying everything to get away, to survive. The silence Kirk, the silence! I sat there in the broken shell of my ship surrounded by silence. Warp engine gone, impulse engines gone, the corridors empty. Everyone sucked into that machine, that devil!

"Your father died to save the crew of the _Kelvin_. That's what every commander's supposed to do. Trained to do, put the lives of the crew above his own, if the situation calls for it. Save the ship, but more than that, save lives. Four hundred lives, but instead of saving them, I sent them to their deaths! If they had stayed, if I hadn't ordered the evacuation—I never thought I was putting them in more danger. That I was sending them to the very jaws of hell! I killed my crew."

"Ramesh, no one expects you to die for an error in judgment."

"A commander is responsible for the lives of the crew, and for their deaths. I should have died with mine. The least I can do is die for mine."

"You cannot destroy the weapon with this suicidal mission, commodore."

"I know. But I've got all the shuttle's sensors on, sending data to you as we speak. I can't kill it, but I can give you the key to its destruction."

"Ramesh—Ramesh, listen to me. You can't throw your life away like this. You're a starship commander, we _need_ you. And we need you alive, not dead. You've got experience, judgment, expertise. Don't throw it all away on this."

"I've got to, captain. My crew were loyal to me to the end, they trusted me and followed my every command. Because of that, they died."

"It's not your fault, Ramesh."

"The least I can do is show the same loyalty and devotion to them."

"You can honor them more by staying alive, with us! Don't do this, Ramesh."

"You've got a fine crew, captain—one of the best I've ever seen. And I've seen a lot. I hope you never find yourself in my position."

"Ramesh!"

"Goodbye."

"Ramesh!"


	158. Ch 158

"Spock, data?"

"Incoming, captain. There was a definite drop in the weapon's detectable energy output."

"Due to the shuttle explosion."

"Affirmative. However, I would advise against making too much of that, captain. Neither myself nor any in the Science Department know whether this figure is reliable. The neutronium casing makes it next to impossible to take readings of the object."

"Spock, the transporter is now operational."

"Thank you, lieutenant."

Nyota nodded, then continued sorting through all the communications.

"Shall we beam your party aboard, captain?"

"Yeah. But leave Scotty. I want to talk to him about something."

"You are devising another plan."

"Spock, maybe Ramesh Dandekar didn't die for nothing. We've been pounding this thing with phasers, photon torpedoes, and it hasn't had a chance to refuel. You said that shuttle did some damage. And it's been expending all this energy chasing us, firing antiprotons at us. Maybe this is the best shot we've got, before it finds some asteroid and refuels."

"We believe that the object is programmed to ignore objects that are smaller than a certain size. That hypothesis is supported by the fact that it left the two inner planets of L-374 intact."

"You also thought that it might have a 'refuel at all costs' protocol built in."

"Captain, our current plan is adequate."

"Commander, the last of Commodore Dandekar's data's come it. I've forwarded it to the science department and your terminal."

I rose to examine the readings from _Gemini_'s sensors. As I ran it through some basic statistical analysis programs, it was apparent that very little was usable. There were high margins of error, and some of the readings made me suspect that the sensors had not been calibrated for a long time. Patterns were almost nonexistent, the points resembling noise more than anything else.

"Got anything, Spock?"

I looked over at Lt. Chekov's station. He was also running data analysis. The line between his brows confirmed my findings. He turned to me, shook his head, and shrugged.

"Nothing so far, captain. I need time to run another round of tests to see if anything the _Gemini_ found is significant."

"Make it fast. Hold on, I'm going to talk to Scotty."

Lt. Chekov approached me at the science station.

"I am finding nothing, except the giant energy spike. Plotting that against time—and so distance—there is being huge increase. After that, readings are disappearing. I am guessing that is when the commodore is meeting the dewil."

"The increase goes beyond the scale of the sensor. It provides no information as to the mechanism, the actual amount of energy, the method by which matter is converted. We do not even know what propels this weapon, how it is able to turn, how it detects the presence of planets or enemies."

"Maybe everything is being inside the neutronium case?"

"Perhaps. But what kind of technology is able to penetrate through the neutronium?"

"If we are killing the beast, we can be finding out. Papers about extragalactic technology are wery rare, Mr. Spock. We can be getting famous again for slaying the doomdewil."

I scrolled through the Science Department's discussion feed. There were confirmations of facts we already knew but nothing new. Nothing to indicate whether the 'doomdevil' could be stopped at all.

"Okay. Found anything?"

"Negative."

"Damn. I guess I'll just have to go with my gut on this one."

"Captain?"

"What's he doing?" Sulu asked. "Captain, you're getting way too close to that thing."

"I know. I'm going to go a lot closer and pull a Dandekar."

I straightened and for a moment, could not breathe.

"Jim, you'll be killed."

"What? No. No, I don't mean I'm going to stay on the ship while it kamikazes into the machine. Scotty's rigged a delay detonation device. You'll have thirty seconds to beam me back to the _Enterprise_ before the _Constellation_'s impulse engines hit the fan. Ninety-seven megatons should give us enough time to get away from the subspace interference, warn Starfleet, and bring a few more ships into the fray, if nothing else. If we're lucky, it'll completely destroy it."

I pushed aside all the feelings roiling inside me.

"Captain, we know nothing—"

"That's why I'm going with my intuition on this. It hasn't failed me yet."

Now is not the time to recount all the times Jim has miscalculated.

"There is another factor, captain. The transporter is not working at one hundred percent efficiency. Thirty seconds is a very slim margin."

"I know. But that's all the time Scotty could give me for the delay. We tried to rig together an autopilot and a remote detonator, but that wasn't an option. So I'll have to chance it."

"That cranky transporter's a mighty finicky piece of machinery to be gambling your life on, sir."

"Mr. Scott, is there a particular reason why a longer time delay is not possible?"

"Mr. Spock, the shape these engines are in—it's hard to keep them from blowing on their own. Thirty seconds was pushing it. Once the explosion's activated, poof! You're past the point of no return."

"Understood."

"Spock, beam Scotty on board."

"Transporter room, stand by."

--

"Transporter room to bridge."

"Lt. Kyle."

"There's been a malfunction. I got Mr. Scott through, but he's run off to fix the main junction circuitry. He said to tell you to bring Lt. Chekov to the station."

Pavel was already on his feet and out the door. Lt. Ho replaced him at navigation.

"The transporter is out, captain. You'll have to stand by."

"Not sure how long I can—power levels're dropping faster than I thought."

"Acknowledged. Bridge to Mr. Scott. Mr. Scott, this may strike you as redundant, but speed is of the essence."

"Captain's two thousand kilometers from the doomsday machine and closing fast. At this rate, he won't _need_ to detonate anything."

"Bridge—transporter should be operational but this jury-rigging won't last. He's got to come off now. Have the Russian beam him up."

"Fifteen hundred."

"Captain, the transporter is operational, but just barely."

"Good enough. Beam up on my signal."

"Thousand."

"Lt. Chekov, stand by."

"You are not needing to be telling me, Mr. Spock. I can hear ewerything. I haf set up audio."

"Five hundred kilometers captain you're a crazy mofo."

"Beam me up—"

"Got it, keptan, and _chyort vozmi_! Scotty, short out!"

"Devil take these bloody Jeffries tubes!"

"Guys. Beaming me up any time this century would be nice. Preferably within the next fucking twenty seconds."

"Mr. Scott, twenty seconds to detonation."

"I'm giving it everything I've got, Spock!"

"Sixty kilometers."

"Mr. Scott?"

"Fifty."

"Mr. Scott."

"Forty."

"Scotty, are you trying inwerse phasing?"

"You know, beaming me up in one piece would be nice too. Just a suggestion."

"Ten seconds," Sulu counted.

"What is it with you and countdowns?" the captain asked.

"Nine, I'm a pilot."

"So?"

On the viewscreen, the _Constellation_ disappeared into the device.

"Mr. Scott," I said, voice controlled.

"Eight, comes with the territory. Seven."

"Try it now, Chekov!"

"Six."

Static.

"Captain?"

"Hikaru, you biggest _idiot kotorovo ya vstretil v etom mirye_ I am beaming him up _i poetomu evo nyet_!"

"Five speak Standard you crazy Russian how would you like it if I—four—spoke Japanese half the time and you didn't understand—three—a word?"

Silence.

I restrained the impulse to run to the transporter room. Instead, I trained my eyes on the viewscreen.

The doomsday machine was motionless, stopped in space. Then, it seemed that particulate matter and energy beams were pouring out of its opening in what appeared to be an explosion. The machine stuttered and began moving again in the opposite direction of the matter it expelled. That could only mean its internal controls were compromised, if it could no longer compensate for changes in momentum.

The transporter room, the transporter room, the transporter room.

Remained silent.

When.

Chekov let out a whoop.

"I've got him!"

Sulu fell back in his chair. Nyota exhaled. Scotty could be heard over the comms saying something, his accent incomprehensible. I got out of the captain's chair and went to the science station, initiating scans of the now drifting machine.

Around me, bridge personnel were laughing, clapping hands, congratulating each other.

The energy output was zero.

The doors opened and Jim stepped through, blue eyes blazing and smiling widely. Lt. Chekov followed behind him.

I stepped forward to meet my captain, and found the appropriate words.

"Welcome aboard, captain."

He nodded.

"It's good to be home."


	159. Ch 159

I cannot get Jim's clothes off fast enough.

He is kissing me, hard and hungry.

"For a few second there"

he undoes my pants

"I thought I was going to die. Actually die and"

my hands go everywhere

"never see you again."

He groans as I accidentally rip his boxers trying to pull them off.

"I guess you felt the same way"

he breathes.

I kiss him, hard and hungry.

Sex is fast. He is still high on adrenaline,

I am still desperate in my need to touch him and make sure he's here

trapped under my arms, on my bed, in my quarters, moaning my name

like a prayer like a curse telling me he wants me needs me.

He is mine.

Death can't have him.

No one can have him no one knows him no one can touch him but me.

I am his.

As long as I am alive he is mine to hold and cherish

mine to kiss and caress and fuck and tongue and suck and whisper into his ear

that I am his.

"Spock"

my name on his lips my fingers in his body my tongue making him arc in helpless pleasure

_Take all myself_

Mine.

I am lost in fire. I cannot hide from the truth when it burns through me.

_I take thee at thy word_

"Jim"

He lies, sweating and panting in my arms, his heart pounding.

I kiss him like a secret.

He returns the kiss, soft and sated,

his arms holding me safe, cool, near,

legs entwined like a promise like a vow like a bond

and I breathe.

He kisses me, slow and selfish.

Sex is aching. I am still captive to my need to make sure he's here,

he is pulsing with the desire to taste me and memorize

my every moan, my eyelids fluttering, my fingers curling, my head thrown back

his name whispered in the sheets like a proof to a theorem like the truth of this universe

telling him he is mine I am his.

Despair can't take me.

I am his alone, his kin and confidant, his shield bearer and suppliant.

He is mine.

As long as I am alive I am his to hold and cherish

his to kiss and caress and fuck and tongue and suck and whisper

sweet nothings into my ear.

"Jim"

his name on my lips his cool hands worshipping my body coaxing a fire in my blood in my heart

in my katra

_Take all myself_

His.

I am lost in fire. I cannot hide from the truth when it burns through me.

_I take thee at thy word_

"Spock"

We lie tangled together, breathless and hearts pounding but somehow still longing

to be closer still.

My arms possessive around him

his leg shifting between mine foot traveling from the back of my knee

until we are aligned ankle to ankle lips to lips.

We kiss, quiet, subdued, like whispered secrets.

He falls asleep in my arms

and I am undone.


	160. Ch 160

_Entreat me not to leave thee, and to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God; where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me._

--

Jim almost died.

Death cannot have him.

These past months in my relationship with him, I have been constantly suppressing the fire within me. I have been lying to myself, afraid and unprepared to face the truth. I have hidden from myself and from Jim, riddled with doubts and unable to escape the bone-deep distrust I have had of emotions—a distrust that was indoctrinated in my youth.

In the face of death, none of that matters. It suddenly loses all importance. Death renders it irrelevant.

My mother died mid-transport to the very same pad.

Had I known—

If she could be brought back to life for just one day—

There is so much I regret, so much I did not do—

I never told her—

—.

Those very same insecurities that interfered with my relationship with Jim prevented me from being open with her. My desperate pride would not allow me to express or even acknowledge anything I felt. As a result, I distanced myself from her. She was the only person in the universe who unconditionally accepted me and loved me without restraint and I sought to minimize my association with her by totally denying my human heritage.

I never thought she would die.

I never thought she would disappear right before my eyes, falling, dissolving, my hand reaching out to touch her, catch her, save her, before death in the form of gravity in the form of a singularity, took her.

There was no body at the funeral. All our possessions destroyed, the only holograph we had of her at the ceremony was the one taken for her Starfleet identification files. Our personal electronic records were hosted on servers physically located on Vulcan. We never thought to back up those files to memory banks on another planet. There was nothing physical or digital that we could use to remind us of her life, of the place she filled in minds and hearts.

It was as though she had disappeared.

No trace. No ashes. No dust. Nothing by which we could remember her or focus our grief, save a low quality holograph that could do no justice to her memory.

Later, going through his office at the Embassy, my father found a few small objects that belonged to her. A scarf. A single glove. A small, empty bottle of perfume. A slim notebook and a half chewed pencil. There were a few pressed flowers in the notebook.

How is it possible that one woman who changed our lives so much can leave so little behind? How is it possible that one event caused by one madman can reach so far into our lives, to the point where an empty bottle of perfume caused my immovable father to break down in helpless tears?

He gifted me her scarf. After we bid one another farewell, after my first shift on duty, I went back to my quarters to organize my personal belongings. Wrapped in tissue paper, tucked away between the folds of my dress uniform, I discovered the soft length of cloth that smelled faintly of my mother.

I never told her—

There is so much I regret, so much I did not do—

If she could be brought back to life for just one day—

Had I known—

—.

I will not make the same mistake with Jim.

In the face of death, against that complete and utter darkness, this fire in me burns. It lights the whole of my being. It is as brilliant and beautiful as the Milky Way Galaxy, as unknown and deep as the universe. A fire and light that burns and blinds, a name that shines in the darkness, in the face of death I do not shrink from that flame. I choose to burn, I choose to be consumed alive, rather than lose everything in the darkness.

Better that, than regret once more.

Better that, than have a life filled with —.

Spaces filled with silence and sorrow, uncertainty and thing unfulfilled, words unspoken. Yawning emptiness a vacuum a chasm, a life of "what if" and "if only."

Nothing is certain, I am still terrified. But before death, before a life of —, it is not relevant. I will take my chances, make a gamble. Risk everything.

"I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have ( ) and lost, Than never to have ( ) at all."


	161. Ch 161

Jim makes a sound of frustration as I break our kiss and pull away.

I take his hand.

_If I profane with my unworthiest hand  
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:  
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand  
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss._

He watches intently as I close his ring and smallest fingers and bend in his thumb of his right hand. I make a similar formation with my own right hand and press our index and middle fingers together diagonally.

He inhales sharply as I begin to trail my fingers down the side of his forefinger, then use my middle finger to trace the hollow at the base of his thumb. His hand naturally opens in response and my touch ghosts over the tip of his thumb.

_Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,  
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;  
For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,  
And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss._

I suddenly apply pressure with my middle and index fingers and drag them down the length of his thumb and follow the outline of his palm. I break contact and retrace the line of his inner wrist with the back of my forefinger.

Jim's hand closes into a loose fist and I touch the tips of my two digits to his wrist bone and follow the line of bone and muscle to his elbow. With the back of all four fingers my hand travels back up his forearm and I tease his wrist bone again with my ring and pinky fingers.

_Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?_

His hand arcs open. I pay special attention to the lines marking his palms, then the spaces between the lines, then every small ridge between his fingers.

My middle finger rests at his wrist in the imperceptible hollow between the tendons. I slowly bring it up his palm, lingering at the muscle over his knuckle, then up his middle finger.

_Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer._

He touches his forefinger, then ring finger, then thumb, then smallest finger, to mine. For a moment, we are still.

The contact is exquisite.

_O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;  
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair._

Jim steps towards me and brings the bottoms of our palms together.

I inhale.

_Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake._

He keeps his thumb in place, but shifts his fingers so that they intercross and touch right at the first finger joints. He slowly brings his fingers down, opening the space between my fingers. They arc back.

I close my eyes.

_Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take._

I gasp as he finally laces his fingers in mine and closes his hand, the tips of his fingers over my knuckles.

_O trespass sweetly urged!_

He holds the kiss and kisses my mouth.

_You kiss by the book._

There are definite advantages to my mixed heritage.

He pulls away and lets got of my hand. "Have you been holding out on me?" His eyes search mine. "That's how Vulcans kiss, isn't it?

I look at him, and nod. The reason as to why we have stopped our activities is unknown to me. I reach for Jim's hand.

He steps away with a small shake of his head, thinking of something. When it finally dawns on him, expressions flit across his face.

Anger, hurt, disbelief, comprehension.

"We've been together for how long? And you show me _now_?"

"Jim, Vulcans do not disclose this information to others."

"So what the hell was I this whole time? What, you didn't trust me enough to tell me what actually turns you on?"

"It is not a matter of trust—"

"Bullshit. That's it, isn't it?" he looks at my face. It seems to provide confirmation. "You've been fucking holding out on me."

"Jim, you are overreacting—"

"_I'm_ overreacting? _I'm_ fucking overreacting? We've been sleeping together for months and you're telling me that I'm overreacting?"

"Humans and Vulcans adhere to different standards when conducting romantic relationships. Previously, I was not certain of the long term viability of our own association."

"_Association?_ Long term viability? You didn't think we'd last?" his expression is that of incredulity.

I am silent.

"This whole time, none of this meant half as much to you as it meant to me? What was I, some sorta experiment?"

"No, Jim, that is not the case—"

"And now you're _lying_ to me? Fuck, it's written all over your face, Spock." He radiates pain, deep and intense. Heartfelt. "This is so fucking ironic."

Jim walks away, then abruptly turns around. "Everyone thinks I'm the playboy—I was a playboy—but at least I don't do things by halves," he breathed harshly.

I stood before him, unable to offer justification for my actions.

"You don't even have anything to say?"

I am at a loss for what to say. "What would you like me to say, Jim?"

He looks at me, blue eyes wide, mouth slightly parted. He gathers himself and tears his gaze away from me.

"You—" he begins. "Why—? Were you ever planning on—?"

He curls his hand into a fist. "You know what, forget this. Fuck it. I have work to do," he goes to his computer terminals. "Forget it."

"If you would clarify—"

"Just forget it. Fuck this shit. You do what you want."

I stand in the middle of his room, unmoving. He concentrates on his computer, jaw clenched.

I step towards him. His eyes dart from the screen to my form, but he does not look at me.

My face adopts a neutral mask. Unknown, unnamed pain blossoms in my side. I curl my right hand into a fist.

I leave the room without a word.

_Anon, anon!  
Come, let's away; the strangers all are gone_


	162. Ch 162

"I'm sorry."

I rehearse it in my head, in every language I know, with different inflections, expanding to "I am," contracting back to "I'm," saying his name at the beginning, saying his name at the end.

We are on the bridge, we are in his quarters, in my quarters, on the observation deck, in the laboratory, on a shuttle, on a mission, before beam up, on the transporter pad, during dinner, in the Sickbay, face to face, side by side, sitting, standing, walking.

I do not say it and he understands. I say it and he doesn't understand. His eyes light up, his eyes darken, they are impassive, they widen, they close, they are full, they are empty. He smiles, he frowns, he shrugs, he grimaces, he embraces me, he pushes me away, he kisses me, he grabs my hand, he ignores me, he nods.

He forgives, he forgets, he remembers, he reminds, he resents, he reconsiders, he thinks, he feels. He replies, he is silent. He mumbles, he shouts. He takes me back, he leaves me.

Whatever the outcome, I will return to his side. It is possible that I am too late, that I have allowed this to go on for too long and what I had with Jim is already lost. But I cannot afford to lose him—at least his friendship. Whatever happens between us as lov—as partners—I am helpless to control. I will do everything in my power to salvage the friendship, to return to his side and take my place there.


	163. Ch 163

"Sit down, Spock."

Leonard McCoy seats himself in his chair. I remain standing.

"Or stand, if you like. Mind if I pour myself a drink?"

"No, doctor."

He took out a glass and a bottle of brandy. "Jim won't tell me what happened between you two. He told bits and pieces to Nyota." He poured himself a glass of amber liquid with a steady hand. "But Nyota read between the lines. And I suppose it helps that she's been in the same position."

I stiffen, perceiving an accusation. "Doctor, if you'll excuse me, I have some experiments to which I must attend—"

"Woah woah, just hold your horses before you skitter off there, Spock. I'm not blaming you. Relationships're tricky things. You're talking to a man who went through one helluva divorce. I'm the last person to point fingers at anyone."

I relaxed marginally.

"But there is one thing I'm gonna ask. And if you can't, or won't, answer this question, there's not much point in talking to me. You've already got your answer to your problem."

He took a sip of brandy. He motioned for me to sit down, and I finally took a seat. Leonard looked at me directly.

"Do you love him?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but Leonard interrupted me.

"Don't say anything about how romance is different for Vulcans or the relativity of emotions for aliens, or anything like that. Because even with humans, there's different kindsa bonds between people. But in the end, no matter how you slice it, love is love. Aint no way to explain it. It just is what it is.

"So, do you love him?"

I looked down at my hands, then up at Leonard again.

My head tilts imperceptibly.

Leonard exhaled, smiled and took his brandy. He raised his glass to me, then took another sip. He leaned back in his chair.

"For how long?"

I shook my head. "I do not know. It came upon me so gradually that I was in the middle of it before I was aware that I had even begun. However, the realization of the depth of my emotional state, and the explicit acknowledgment of it on my part was only recent."

"Fair enough. Everyone falls in love differently. You, being who y'are, had ta go about it in the most convoluted way possible, but as long as you're not suppressing it, I've got no complaints."

"Jim would beg to differ."

"And I'd be the same way if I were in his shoes."

"I do not understand."

"Neither did I, when I was dating my ex-wife. Look," Dr. McCoy leaned towards me, "I don't know what Vulcan expectations are in a romantic relationship, but I sure as hell know about the human side. I aint saying that Jim's this way, necessarily, but chances are some part—maybe all of it, for that matter—applies.

"There's a lotta nonsense and hoopla built up over the centuries about romance. I'm not talking about love here—love's a different thing. Romance is what people think love _should_ be, and love is what it is, no apologies and misty eyed rose tinted glasses about it."

He took another sip.

"Romance says that love completes you. And while you're sky high in love, that's exactly what it feels like. You feel like the pieces you were missing are right where they should be and you're invincible, you can do anything, be anyone, face anything in the Milky Way and beyond. Your problems melt away and everything's perfect. There's nothing in the universe that compares to that goddamn feeling of euphoria—not drugs, not some cocktail of neurotransmitters, not anythin'.

"But in reality—because reality's still there, ready and waiting, it's just been fogged up by this haze of feeling—you've still got problems. You're still a flawed person. And more importantly, your lover's flawed. Love doesn't erase any of those things, and you find that out soon enough when gravity grabs your ass and you crash back down to the earth. Then, you're stuck in a conundrum. See, you still love that person, but now you see things a little clearer. There's stuff you disagree on, issues that you don't quite see eye to eye. Things they do that drive you insane, habits they have they annoy you to pieces. That's where the real test comes in.

"It's a test I failed, so I'm not sure you wanna listen to my advice like I'm some authority on this. Well, failed or forgot, take your pick. It amounts to the same thing.

"Love doesn't complete anyone or anything. And it alone isn't enough to keep a relationship going. The thing I never learned—and I wonder if I ever will—is, it's not that the other person completes you. It's that they stand by you while you complete yourself, and accept you for who you are every step of the way. You can't find yourself in another person—there's only one place for that. Love's what happens when someone's willing to help, not expecting any gain, not expecting any sort of reciprocity. They'll lend you strength when you need it, support when you want it, give you faith when you ask for it. Love's what happens when you're willing ta do the same.

"Did you ever read that book? I never woulda guessed in a thousand years that an Orion would write the truest words about love. But they did. And maybe it makes some sorta sense that someone from a society as messed up as the Orions, where love's almost an impossibility because everything revolves around biochemistry and pheromones, would know what love is. They don't even bother with the words 'I love you.'

"'Let me help.'

"That's what love is."

His voice was quiet and his eyes distant.

"It gives you the resolve to change, to become a better person. It gives you courage to bear all things with patience and dignity; it gives you determination to live life to its fullest potential, to strive and strain and persevere from day to day. Love humbles you, down to your very core. It makes you feel like the luckiest sonuvabitch to walk and breathe and touch the stars."

Leonard paused momentarily. His emotions were tinged with bittersweet memories, vague impressions of the brief and happy glow of his own marriage, the wife and child he left on Earth. He still loves them.

"What you've got with Jim is a rare thing. But it's like a supernova, liable to burn out real fast if some things don't change. I can't tell you how to prevent that or what things to change. You and Jim'll have to figure that out yourselves as times goes on. I will say that love means compromise. Every day. I know you love him, but if you're not willing to compromise, you might as well end it right here and save yourself and Jim a lot of heartache. Things'll only get uglier.

"That's the test. Plain and simple. Are you willing to meet him halfway? And is he? Are you willing to swallow your pride—both human and Vulcan—for Jim? And is he? Are you willing to give him what he needs, and trust that he'll do the same for you? I know you're willing to die for him. Are you willing to live for him? Are you willing to forgive when he fails, hope when he despairs, abide when he falters? And is he?

"I wasn't. Jill gave up a lot to make our relationship work. She helped me through my schooling, through my residency and the first years at the hospital. I didn't realize the kind of woman I would lose, losing her. I wasn't willing to give up time or surgery or patients to be with her, to help her in equal measure, or Joanna. I loved them, and I thought my love was enough to get us through. It was a world of hurt for me to find out it wasn't.

"I'm not gonna ask you some fool question about 'can you imagine life without him.' I couldn't imagine my life without Jill and my sweet little girl, but here I am living it. Life goes on after love ends or fades or lingers. The real challenge isn't falling in love. Any idiot with a few brainwaves can do that. It's sustaining love that hits everyone the hardest.

"And I'm not gonna say that it's worth it. I can't tell you how stuff between you and Jim's gonna work out—that's up to time and circumstance. To be honest, sometimes, two people're better off apart. Sometimes, the relationship never shoulda gotten started. At best, romance makes you crazy and at worst, it punches a hole right in the middle of your heart. Love's the glue that holds things together, but it only goes so far. The rest is made up of misunderstandins, conflicts, and moments scattered in between where ya just stop and realize—this is love. This is life: a fight, a fire, a sorrow, a struggle."

Leonard McCoy looked at me, his gaze assessing.

"This might not've been what you wanted to hear. God knows the kind of mental leaps you had to make just to admit that you love him. And I understand what it cost you, maybe better than Jim, to already compromise yourself this far. You're half human," he nodded, "but you're still half Vulcan. You feel like you're putting yourself out on a limb and you don't even know if there's anyone to catch you. It's a damn scary feeling.

"Whatever you choose, it's your right. There's no one true answer, nothing set in stone to say you're wrong or not. A person's either able to give up that much of himself, or he's not. But I want you to know that whatever you choose, we'll stand by you both, through thick and thin, like we always have and always will. As long as this ship's flyin', we'll help you."


	164. Ch 164

I would live for the captain.

I would kill for him, I would lie for him, I would die for him, I would live for him. I would live for him and abide with him for the rest of my life, taking no other partner, needing no other companion. I would face anything in this universe, survive any circumstance, endure any situation, to return to him and share life with him. I would fight death, if only to spend five more minutes at his side, all the while fighting for another five minutes, and five more, and five more. Whatever price I must pay to live and be with him, I would pay it without hesitation, without regret.

I will not ask how this came about. I simply accept that it is, and accept that any analysis falls far short of what I feel and what I know. This thing that burns inside me touches my katra. It shakes the foundations of my soul and I am terrified.

But it is not a feeling. Emotions, as complex and volatile as they are, do not adequately describe the fire that lights the core of my being. Nor is it a thought that illuminates the realms of logic. Both logic and emotion are encompassed by this, but the sum of these parts does not cover the whole. Words fail, numbers fail, emotions fail, logic fails to express this truth that I have discovered.

The truth terrifies me. It liberates me. It has changed the course of my life, and it redefines me. I am more than who I am. The boundaries of my self have extended beyond me to include another whom I count as dear as, perhaps dearer than, the whole of my being. He is at once comrade and lover. I have served in battle with him, I have mourned with him, I have laughed with him. I have listened to the slow inhale and exhale of his breathing as he lies in my arms.

I have felt my chest tighten, I have felt my heart stop, I have felt my stomach flutter, I have felt my hands shake. I know what true fear is—it is clawing suffocation as I search for him in the black emptiness of space, counting the seconds and hoping against hope that he is still alive. I know what true sorrow is—it is the knowledge of his sorrow, and the knowledge that I can do nothing except stand silently at his side and offer my shoulder for him to lean on. I know what true joy is—it is his laughter, the light behind his eyes, the unexpected smile he gives to me. Joy comes in its own time, unannounced, unlooked for, completely unanticipated. It is the light of a single candle that illuminates a wall of mosaics, the golden tiles glittering and reflecting in the darkness, creating a blazing wall of multifaceted color. Joy is something at once earned and gifted, won and received.

Joy is something meant to be shared.

That he would choose to share his joy with me amazes me. Who am I, that he chooses thus? What does he see in me to give such a precious gift? He believes in me. He depends on me. He has let me see into his soul and touch what lies there. He has seen into me, into my katra, and he holds it carefully as though it were the most precious object in this universe. Who am I, that he is mindful thus?

Who was I before that I lived without experiencing this? What emptiness filled my existence, how did I content myself to live without him? Life might have passed, our paths might never have crossed, and I would never have known him. If I had never known him, I would have been safe. My borders would remain secure and untested, unchallenged. He came and opened my horizons, exposed me on all sides. With him I have discovered new worlds, with him I have faced enemies within and without. Some I have defeated, some have defeated me, but always I emerge from the crucible in a newer, changed form. If I had never known him, I would have been safe. But life would not be half so rich; life would not be half so real.

I will live for the captain. I am no longer satisfied merely to salvage our relationship and continue on as before. The thought of life without him is unimaginable. The thought of him taking another is unbearable. I want to be his, and I want him to be mine. I will not do this by halves.

He accepts me as I am, he sees me for who I am. He understands me like no other being in this universe has. He stands by me as I complete myself, he offers an outstretched hand to help me. And he asks for nothing in return, trusting that I will help and hold him in equal measure. We give to each other freely, and now that I have found this gift, I am not willing to settle for anything less. Whatever it takes, whatever I must do to get him back, I will do it. My pride is a small price to pay for a life with him.

I cannot quantify this. I cannot measure it. All the languages I have studied cannot describe it. I can offer no infallible proof of its existence, I can give no precise account of its effects. I must simply accept it, even as it changes my world and fills me with terror.

Love.

I will go to him and tell him, asking forgiveness for my selfishness. I will go to him and tell him how once, I was only willing to live for myself. Now, I want to live for him. I want to draw his soul close to my katra and pass through life with him, his shield bearer and suppliant, his kin and confidant.

I will go to him and tell him that I love him.


	165. Ch 165

Inhale.

Exhale.

I step towards the doors of the gymnasium and stop short of entering.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

I do not know what I will say. I only know what I need to tell him.

I walk through. Personnel greet me, gleaming with sweat, running on the treadmills, lifting weights. I simply nod to them by way of reply.

Jim is standing among some security officers. He is poised in front of a heavy bag, his attention focused completely on his target, inhaling and exhaling steadily as he throws punches and kicks. Lt. Condor is standing to the side, critiquing his form..

He does not see my approach until Lt. Condor nods his head in my direction. Jim gives me a casual sideways glance, then punches the bag. It swings to the side.

The officer looks at the captain, then at me. He seems to make a decision because he gives Jim's shoulder a friendly clap, then informs the captain that he's 'going to hit the showers.' Jim's eyes narrow fractionally, but he smiles and lets the lieutenant go on his way.

"Good luck," the officer says before he leaves.

I am uncertain if that statement was intended for myself or for Jim.

Jim turns his attention back to the bag. I step forward and take Lt. Condor's place.

"Might not be," Jim punches the bag, "the best idea," the chains holding it up rattle, "for you to stand there," I look at him steadily, "right now."

He continues his workout.

I watch the moving lines of his body, the way the muscles extend and contract, the sweat forming on his skin. I listen to the cadence of his breathing, the way he controls his oxygen intake to control his regulate his heartbeat, the rhythm of the punches and kicks that complement the in-out of his stomach.

It is mesmerizing.

It gives no inspiration as to what I should say. I desperately need words to make him understand.

Instead, I steady the swinging bag and keep my eyes trained on his body.

A particularly vicious kick throws the bag off balance and it knocks into me. I catch it and restore the equilibrium.

And suddenly emotions surge to the forefront. Frustration with myself, fear that I might truly lose him, anger that he does not already understand, pure longing for his presence by my side once more. This has gone on long enough.

"I'm sorry," I say, voice clear and steady.

Jim kicks. The spot is approximately where my temple would be, if I stood before him.

"I will be honest. The charges you laid before me were true. Up to that point in our relationship, I did not think we would last. I doubted you and I doubted myself. It is for those reasons that I did not disclose to you the nature of Vulcan intimacy; I feared the truth of my own feelings towards you, and I feared the possibility of your rejection."

"You thought _I_ would break up with you?" he punches. "After all the shit we've been through? You fucking don't know me at all."

"I do not, but I believe the same can be said of your understanding of me."

"And who's fucking fault is that?" the bag sways with the force of his blows. "I have been _nothing_ but open with you. You know shit that I don't even tell Bones."

"I did not mean to fault you, Jim. It simply is not—Vulcans are reluctant to reveal too much of themselves emotionally. We are trained from birth to suppress strong emotions, inculcated to associate emotion with disorder, inefficiency, anarchy—"

"I get it," Jim's voice is flat. "You're Vulcan, you don't deal with your emotions, whatever. Don't you have any better excuses?"

"You do not understand," my voice is urgent, an edge of anger to it. "You do not comprehend the effort it cost me to accept that I am half-Terran, how deeply ingrained this rejection of emotions goes—"

"Don't fucking apologize and then throw all this shit in my face about how I don't understand—"

kick aimed at my solar plexus

"I had to deconstruct the ideas I had believed as a child—"

roundhouse kick aimed for my ribs

"and I can't fucking believe that I fell this fucking hard for you, you fucking bastard—"

shove the bag back at him

"I had to reexamine the very foundation upon which I based the definition of myself—"

punches and jabs

"you fucking bastard you led me on—"

erratic inhales and exhales

"And only then could I admit to myself—"

"made me think that you might give a shit about me—"

"the depth of my love for you."

the chain above rattles

"—. Wait, what?"

Jim stops.

inhale exhale inhale exhale his breath and mine unsynchronized

The piercing blue of his eyes, the light behind them like daggers.

"What?"

The bag hangs unmoving between us.

"I love you."

I sidestep the obstacle and move towards him.

"I still do not understand how or why or when it happened, and I doubt I ever will. But that is the truth. I love you."

Jim remains in place, his face unreadable.

Fear doubt pride threaten to drag me under but I push those aside and take his hand in mine.

"I love you and I will be honest with you. This thing—this love—terrifies me still. But"

Inhale.

"I would like another chance"

Exhale.

"if you will give me one."

We stand hand to hand, face to face.

His fingers are cool against mine. He holds my gaze.

"You'd compromise yourself for me?"

"Jim, I have already compromised myself irrevocably for you."

He applies pressure to my hand for a moment, then lets go.

"My quarters in half an hour. I'm gonna stretch, take a shower. We have a lot to talk about."


	166. Ch 166

Jim was at his computer terminal when I entered.

"Just a sec. Lock the door, will you?"

I did so, then turned back to look at him. He was relaxed, body loose from his workout. His hair was still slightly wet and it stuck up every which way.

"So," he walked around his desk, settled on the edge half-sitting half-standing, and crossed his arms. "Talk."

I blinked.

"What would you like to know?"

Jim ran his hand through his hair.

"Anything. Start with that stuff you said a while ago, about bonding. What's that?"

"It is a telepathic link between two individuals. On Vulcan, those who are fully bonded are referred to as mates; the status is roughly equivalent to the Terran concept of marriage. Mates are bonded for life. They engage in sexual intercourse with each other, are encouraged to raise a family, and usually come to know each other intimately. Ideally, mates learn to provide for emotional and intellectual needs of the other, though that is not always the case. All children are typically linked by the age of seven, signifying a bethrothal. The link between children is generally considered an immature or weaker form of the full bond."

"And you're not bonded."

"That is correct."

"Was your mom? When she married your dad, can Vulcans bond with humans?"

"It is possible, though I do not know how it is done. Vulcans have extensively studied the bond between mates, but it remains an enigma. I know that it is possible for humans to bond with Vulcans, as my mother and father shared a link. I was led to believe that it is something of a complicated procedure."

"So there's no chance of it just forming spontaneously."

"I do not know. I would, however, be surprised if a bond formed between us," I paused. "Are you opposed to—"

"I don't know. We should figure this stuff out first before we talk about marriage or anything really permanent, don't you think?"

I nodded.

"That is reasonable."

A pause. Jim seemed to be deep in thought.

"Tell me about the meld thing."

"The mind meld is psionic technique that may serve many purposes. You have already seen me use it to obtain answers from those unwilling or unable to give them. It can also be used to transfer information from one individual to another. There are different varieties and degrees of melding, depending on the purpose of the meld. Healers often use melding to assist their patients in recovery.

"Between mates, who have the additional advantage of the bond between them, melding is considered a component of sexual intercourse. It may be initiated at any stage during physical intercourse. The meld heightens the sensations and intimacy between partners. I have heard that some mates are capable of entering into extremely intense melds, to the extent that physical intercourse is not necessary. However, that only occurs for those who share bonds of unusual strength."

"Just for clarification—it's Vulcan sex only if you're having actual sex, right?"

"There are Vulcans who consider any form of a mind meld to be a strictly personal and intimate interaction. They consider the mind a sacred space, and one may enter another individual's mind only certain conditions: both parties must trust each other, and both parties much give explicit consent to engage in the act. There are other Vulcans who believe that position to be impractical. The mind is a sacred space, but we often come upon extenuating circumstances in which communication is impossible or the transfer of certain information is imperative.

"I am among the latter, of course. However, I must admit that I am more liberal in my use of melds than most. There have been times when I have initiated a meld out of scientific curiosity, for example, with the Teknosapiens. Most Vulcans would not do so."

"Um, so theoretically, in a hypothetical situation, if a Vulcan that's not you, strictly speaking, melded with me, it wouldn't count as Vulcan sex. And a legtimate transfer of information took place."

The phrasing of the sentence was strange.

Jim shifted slightly, tense.

"Fuck it. Your other self melded with me, back on Delta Vega. When you marooned me."

My chest tightened and my hands curled into fists on their own accord.

Jim unfolded his arms and stood up.

"Hey, I had no idea who he was. He just kind of came out of nowhere while I was running away from an insane beast, waved a torch in front of it, then told me he was you. It all happened kinda fast."

He came closer to me.

"I swear, it was just an info dump. That, and a shitload of emotions—mostly gut-wrenching grief—like a fucking tsunami. He told me about his universe and how Nero got here in the first place, and why the Romulan had his heart set on imploding the Federation."

Jim put his hands on my upper arms.

"Spock? Say something."

I inhaled.

_I know you love him, but if you're not willing to compromise, y__ou__ might as well end it right here.__ That's the test. Plain and simple. Are y__ou__ willin__g__ t__o__ meet him halfway? Are y__ou__ willin__g__to__ swallow your pride—both human and Vulcan—for Jim?_

Exhale.

I leaned in and kissed him softly. He closed his eyes.

"I trust you."

Blue eyes an entire universe of stars shining galaxies burning lighting my very katra driving away the darkness like the truth a revelation an epiphany sweeter than freedom deeper than logic stonger than emotion eternal and infinite staring at me from blue eyes piercing blazing glowing searching

We both moved to kiss the other but ended up bumping noses.

Jim smiled, eyes bright with laughter. He tilted his head and we kissed.

Slowly, carefully, deliberately.

I took his hand in mine and kissed him, palm to palm.

He whispered into my ear.

"Any other things I should know about Vulcans?"

"Several. However, the only fact relevant right now is that my feet are also extremely sensitive."

"Your feet? Really?"

"Not to the extent of my hands," I gasped as Jim sucked the index finger of my free hand, "but I would not be averse to a foot massage."

He grinned.

"I think I can do something about that."

Jim moved to undress me, but I stopped him.

"You are certain you would like to postpone this discussion? I do not desire that any more misunderstandings should create conflict between us."

"Yeah, I'm sure," he said after a moment. "I still have questions, and you still owe me some explanations. But we've got time."

He pulled me towards the bed. I followed.

"And besides," his hands were at my hips. "I trust you."

The world stills as my heart soars and Jim's blue eyes are on me, ever constant.

He kisses me and murmurs against my lips.

"I trust you. I always have, and always will."


	167. Ch 167

Jim and I made love.

Slow, intense, passionate, physical love.

Simple sex cannot compare to the language our bodies spoke this time. His body and mine, Terran and Vulcan, entwined together like kinetic poetry.

By the end, we are both spent, aching and exhausted. After the climax, there is intimacy, soft and quiet touches and glances as though we are discovering each other anew. I know every part of Jim's body—I have mapped it with roaming hands and lips and tongue several times. Yet what is familiar is suddenly foreign. It is as though my vision has changed. I have changed. He has changed. Everything about me is different.

He is sleeping in my arms, and it is right. This is where he should be. Vulcans do not believe in any form of predetermination, but a Terran phrase comes to mind. It is as though he was meant to be with me, and I with him.

Why did I fear this? I cannot remember the source of my anxiety. He made me forget it entirely when he took me in his arms and kissed me, forgave me my selfishness and doubts. He does not hold it against me. I finally know what it is to give up part of myself to another person, without resentment and without regret. Jim holds my katra in his hands, shelters it safe within his heart, and there is no other place I would rather be. His soul light the very depths of my mind, I take his body firmly in my arms, and I know that he feels the same way.

I have found what I am searching for, something I have been seeking all my life, though I would not admit it, nor could I give a name to it. It is more than respect or acceptance. It is as sublime as friendship, for it is founded on it and builds upon it. I am amazed that this touches every aspect of my life, ignites a deep and steady fire in me. I am myself, I am more than who I am.

Love.

It is a thing poets write of and people dream of. A thing that cannot be measured by any means, nor found through series of syllogisms. More elusive than antimatter, it seems to encompass the universe and give life its very significance. Yet we cannot adequately explain it, not by word, image, sound, or number.

The only thing we can do is approximate using Fourier analysis, as though love is an impossible periodic function and the only way we may describe it is by decomposing it into an infinite sum of sines and cosines. Or we might sculpt it using negative space, as though love is a block of marble and we chip away what it is not, to obtain the figure of what it is.

It is a thing exalted, romanticized, caricatured, vandalized, canonized, demonized, manipulated for every purpose imaginable. Its elegant simplicity and startling complexity is beyond anyone's comprehension. Without it, can life hold any meaning? Without it, is it possible to hope? We ask of the universe an eternal question: "Is this all that I am? Is there nothing more?"

It presents us with an answer.

Jim shifts in my arms.

I put my hand to his face, tracing the ridge of his brow, following the naturally sloping bone structure down under his eyes, up against his nose, down to the line between his lips. I feel the soft skin right under his lower lip, the small indent there. I follow the line of his jaw up to the terminating corner, skim up the side of his face to his ear, fingers whispering and pressing kisses into his psi points.

He opens his eyes sleepily, wrapping his arms around my torso.

"What're you thinking about?" he mumbles.

My fingers gently close his eyes, brush kisses onto his eyelids.

He kisses the center of my palm, lips barely touching my skin.

"You, Jim."

I feel him smile against my hand.

"I am thinking about you."

Through our contact, I feel him receding into sleep again.

--

_Tell me, O thou whom my katra loveth, where thou resteth, where thou layest thy burden down at noon: for why should I be as one that is veiled and turned aside by the looks of thy companions?_

_If thou know not, O thou fairest among warriors, go thy way forth by the footsteps of the camp, and command thy soldiers beside the folded tents._

_I have compared thee, O my t'hy'la, to a company of horses among the glittering chariots._

_Thy cheeks are comely with rows of jewels, thy neck with chains of gold._

_W__e will make thee borders of gold with studs of silver._

_While he sitteth at his table, my spikenard sendeth forth the smell thereof._

_A bundle of myrrh is my t'hy'la unto me; he shall lie all night upon my breast._

_My t'hy'la is unto me as a cluster of camphire in the vineyards of Engedi._

_Behold, thou art fair, t'hy'la; behold, thou art fair; thou hast the sun within thy eyes._

_Behold, thou art fair, t'hy'la, yea, pleasant: our bed is green._

_The beams of our house are cedar, and our rafters of fir._

-Songs of S'lmon, First Song, verses 6-16.


	168. Ch 168

"Guess what I have," Nyota smiled, her hands behind her back.

I raised an eyebrow.

"Go on. Guess."

"I can make no conjecture as to the object currently in your possession."

She brought her hands forward and presented an unremarkable datapad.

"Four tickets to a concert. It's a selection music showcasing the Terran pianoforte—a really wide selection. But it does say that they will have a pianist playing Philip Glass's _Metamorphosis_. And, I don't know how they booked him, but Chuco Valdés will be there."

I took the datapad from her hands and scrolled through the page.

"What do you think? You, me, Jim, Scotty, a double date," her eyes were shining. "I really want to go."

"I would also like to attend, but I am not certain that Jim will enjoy the experience."

"Scotty probably won't either. He and Jim can keep each other company."

"I believe the Terran saying is 'misery loves company.'"

"Exactly," she laughed. "You can convince him to go by bribing him with sexual favors."

"Nyota."

Exasperation mixed with amusement rose to the forefront.

"Who's Spock bribing with sex?" Leonard entered the lab. "Oh, wait. Don't answer that."

I raised an eyebrow. Nyota smiled widely.

"What kind of music does Jim like?"

"Jim? I have no idea. He's got eclectic tastes, kind of all over the place," Leonard paused at the lab station. "What does that have to do with sexual favors? No, hold that too. I don't want to know."

Before Nyota could make another impertinent comment, I answered.

"Nyota has acquired concert tickets for four individuals. She has suggested that Jim and I accompany her and Engineer Scott, but I am not sure that Jim will enjoy the outing. Given that he has fallen asleep at every opera and concert we attend during diplomatic missions, this will not appeal to him as a pleasant use of his time."

"Which is where the sex comes in."

"Oh. Well, that's reasonable. Man can convinced to do a lot of things for sex. My ex-wife used it on me a couple times. What concert?"

"A survey of pieces for the piano."

"Good luck bribing him with that. I know Nyota can drive a hard bargain—go easy on Scotty, for God's sake—you and Jim, I'm not so sure who'll come out on top."

A pause.

Nyota was trying very hard to hold her laughter. I glared at her. It was entirely her fault that I was having this ridiculous conversation in the first place.

Leonard groaned. "Goddamnit, I didn't mean it _that_ way!"

"You're both so cute when you blush."

"I'm not blushing!"

"I am reconsidering your offer, ndugu."

"No you're not. You want to come to this concert as much as I do. Bring Jim along so he won't get jealous and we'll have fun. I promise."

"The captain is not prone to feelings of envy."

Leonard snorted.

"That's beside the point. You two haven't gone a real date since shore leave back on Placer, and it'll be good for Jim, getting out and doing something normal for once, instead of being a captain 24/7."

I looked down at the datapad.

"I will discuss it with him."

Nyota nodded.

"I've got to go, we have a departmental meeting I need to prepare for. But," she stepped in and gave me a quick kiss on my cheek. "We're glad you and Jim have got this settled."

"You were aware of our conflict?"

"Spock, don't freak out about this, but _everyone_ knew about 'the conflict,' even if most didn't know what it was about. We were all holding our breaths, hoping things would turn out okay."

"I was not aware that the status of my relationship with the captain was a matter of public concern."

"All of us take a lot of confidence in the strength of our command. You and Jim are better together than apart."

"I won't disagree with that one," Leonard shook his head. He clapped his hand to my shoulder. "It's a good thing you've got."

I made no reply, but simply nodded.

"Well, skedaddle, Nyota. You've got that meeting, me and Spock need to get this experiment under way."

--

"Jim, would you like—"

"Yeah, let's do it," he grinned.

I raised an eyebrow.

"I would advise against preemptively responding, as you do not yet know what I am proposing."

Jim stripped off his clothes.

"What, it's not about sex? Come on, I have to be back on the bridge in forty. Get your clothes off. Or if you need help," he moved towards me.

I determined that Jim might be more amenable to Nyota's suggestion after our activities.

"Jim."

"Yeah?"

He radiated satisfaction.

"Nyota has acquired four tickets to a concert and has asked us to join her and Scotty on a double date," I entwined my fingers in his. "Will you come?"

He grinned, but chose not to vocalize the innuendo that flashed through his thoughts. Instead, certain images came through our contact.

"What kind of concert?"

"As I understand, the program is varied."

"Give me a straight answer, Spock."

"It showcases a Terran instrument with which you might be familiar—"

"I'm not going to like this concert, am I. This is one of those things you and Nyota get excited about."

"I am willing to negotiate certain terms."

He laughed.

"Diplomacy, Spock?"

"Or a similar concept. I have many skill sets."

"Tell you what. How about you use one of those great skill sets in the fresher since I need to get back on duty in fourteen, then we'll _negotiate_ some more later."

"You will come?" I asked deliberately.

Jim's pupils dilated.

"I'll come," he got up and led us to the fresher. "And come, and come and—"

I kissed him.

--

"So, Nyota. This concert."

"You're coming?"

Jim gave me a look. I feigned ignorance.

"Is it formal? Are we doing dress uniforms?"

"No, semi-casual's fine. It's a date, so leave work on the ship. Wear what you did for your last date with Spock."

"Are you dragging Scotty into this?"

"I'm not dragging him, honestly. He thinks he won't enjoy it, but I think he'll at least like hearing Valdés play. The man's a genius with the keyboard."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Don't sound so skeptical about it, Jim. You might actually enjoy yourself."

"Oh I'll enjoy myself. It's just a matter of when."

Nyota laughed.

"Scotty said something along the same lines."

--

"Well, lads. I see you've made it _on time_ to the transporter room."

"Where's Nyota?"

"It's funny you ask, Jim, I've been wondering the _same thing_ for past bloody hour."

"Forty minutes and thirteen seconds, to be precise."

"That precision, Spock—when you say thirteen seconds, do you mean thirteen seconds from when you began speaking or thirteen seconds from the moment you start saying 'thirteen seconds'? It takes time to say it all so how can you be that accurate about your timekeeping? And when did you start counting? From the time she said she'd be here or the time I've been waiting?"

"Has this been bothering you or something, Scotty?"

"Now hold on second, this is a legitimate concern. When you've been waiting for forty minutes and thirteen seconds for your date to make her grand appearance, you'd want to know where how those thirteen seconds were counted too."

"It is fortunate then, that Vulcans are always punctual."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Scotty, calm down. Just, chill. We're not going to be late."

"Late? Who said anything about being worried about being late? Not me. Are you worried, Jim?"

Right at that moment, Nyota rushed in, slightly breathless but beautifully dressed.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't like anything I tried on."

Jim glanced at Scotty, who seemed lost for words.

"That's fine," he smiled. "Ready to go? Scotty?"

"About bloody time," he mumbled, but the expression on his face belied another emotion.

"All right then, let's go."

Nyota walked up on the transporter pad, followed by the engineer. Jim and I took our usual places.

"Energize."

--

Dinner, wine, atmosphere.

"I don't care what you say, Jim. Warp engines were never designed for that kind of functionality. You'd have to redesign the entire nacelle as we know it, to get the efficiency ratings you're talking about. Every design I know uses dilithium—it's irreplaceable. Nothing comes close."

"But if you go back to Cochrane's original designs, they had some interesting concepts that could've been developed further. I agree that dilithium's great, but it's dangerous to be so reliant on one crystal. Everyone's scrambling to find it to rebuild their fleets, piled on top of the existing demand."

"I don't know anything about warp mechanics—"

"You don't? I'll have to add that to your schedule."

"Jim, I really don't have time, I'm up to my ears running Communications."

"If you're going to be a captain someday, you at least need to know the basics."

"I also need to sleep, and some time away from duty."

"Nyota, may I remind you that you are currently in a relationship with the Federation's most ingenious engineer? You might find discussions about warp theory informative, if not enjoyable."

"Oh, we've already done plenty of that," Scotty smiled, taking Nyota's hand. "But contrary to popular belief, I've got more interests than the _Enterprise_'s ample nacelles."

"I did not mean to imply that—"

"It's fine, Spock. We know what you meant. But as I was about to say, even though I don't know as much as _the captain_," she looked at Jim pointedly, "would like about warp technology, dilithium supplies have definitely become top priority for the Federation. Prices have gone through the roof, the demand is so high, and that's changed the whole dynamic in diplomacy."

"Which is ridiculous, if you ask me," Scotty shook his head. "There's tons of dilithium mined and processed every year, only most of it's not the specific grade you need for warp nacelles. I don't think people realize that it's the processing of the rocks that make them so bloody valuable, not the raw material itself. Politicians hear the word 'dilithium' and immediately think they're sitting on a diamond mine."

"How much do you know about dilithium cutting?"

"My uncle worked in that industry, it's fascinating stuff. Lucrative too."

"Scotty told me that every major mining corporation has a dilithium signature they're known for, and different planetary craftsmen have patents on crystal cuts, which is why economic negotiations can get tricky."

"But you've also got to take into account that Starfleet's got its own signature."

"That makes sense," Jim nodded. "They've got contracters building all their ships, right? All of Riverside was basically employed in the shipyards."

"Were you ever?"

"Yeah, but I never worked on actually building anything. They've got engineers—really smart guys, I've talked to them—working on that stuff."

"Interesting that you bring up Riverside. I've got a friend there who's been fiddling around with other crystal designs—you'd be amazed how a single cut can increase or decrease engine efficiency."

The meal passes among friends and intense conversation.

--

"Wow. Valdés is brilliant. He's just great. The way he plays that keyboard? Damn."

"I thought you'd like that part of the concert. Scotty?"

"I'm awake. Can't sleep through something like that. But the _Metamorphosis_, I'd have to admit it wasn't as, uh, riveting."

"You fell asleep."

"In his defense, it was incredibly repetitive. I didn't like it that much either. I think it was your favorite?"

"The meditative quality of the piece both intellectually profound and deeply emotional. I believe it to be an experiment in musical time values, as well as transformations in pitch. Comparing the piece to Mozart's _Zwölf Variationen_, where it the composer deliberately introduced variations, _Metamorphosis_ is highly dependent on the variation in performance and the pianist's interpretation of the notes."

"Yeah, definitely your favorite," Jim smiled, then lightly touched my hand. "Thanks, Nyota. For organizing this, I mean. It wasn't as painful as I thought."

Nyota beamed.

"No problem, captain."

"I would not be averse to another such outing."

"It wasn't half so bad. Dinner was better than the show."

"Scotty, your show hasn't even started," Jim smirked.

"Well, neither has yours," the engineer returned, giving Jim a significant look.

I glanced sideways at Nyota, who rolled her eyes and wore a secretive smile.

"Next time," Scotty declared, putting his arm around Nyota's waist, "we're going to a football game. Now, if you lads will excuse me, I think this is where we say good night."


	169. Ch 169

Jim is in the fresher. The sound of the water streaming takes me back to another time, to New York and our experience there.

I gather the clothes that are lying on the floor. Jim's, my, shirt, blazer, pants, socks, boots, all mixed together. It does not take long to separate them out, straighten out the articles, and fold them as necessary.

I go to Jim's closet to hang his blazer and pants. There are only a few items inside. I identify his dress uniform, another blazer/pant set, a coat, and an old leather jacket. As I hang his clothes, something catches my eye.

In a dark corner of the closet is a shirt. Jim's shirt from New York. My chest seems to tighten and I pull it out, disjointed memories like sand shifting in the desert. It is unwashed. It smells of Jim's sweat, it smells faintly of the cheap detergent we used to wash our clothes. The texture of the cloth sears my senses, takes me back to a lost time and place.

And thinking back, it seems that is where everything—our love—began.

I pull the shirt close and in the process of doing so, realize there is something underneath.

My shirt, carefully folded into his.

A hundred thoughts, a moment of realization, the flash of epiphany, the confirmation of everything I have discovered. Underneath it all, the pull of an inexplicable feeling that soars and amazes, burns and calms.

The sound of water stops. I return the shirts to the corner of the closet and step away, shutting it quietly. Jim emerges from the fresher, hair dark with water, skin damp and red from the heat. He rummages through his dresser drawers for boxers. My eyes follow the lines of his body.

"Fresher's all yours," he says, oblivious.

I find I am distinctly not interested in taking a sonic shower.

Instead, I draw him to me again. He is about to pull his boxers on, but I take them out of his hands.

"Round three?"

I make no reply. Only kiss him, long and soft, claiming every square centimeter of his mouth. I taste the inner hollows of his cheeks, the space beside his gums, the smooth enamel of his teeth. I touch the cavity under his tongue, the frenulum that extends from the floor of his mouth, the hard palate, the moist velum towards his throat. Jim moans, his body responds and I continue to trace each of his upper teeth, going from the molars, premolars, the point of his cuspids and the incisors.

He wants to break away to catch his breath and move us back to the bed, but I keep us in place. Instead, I ease the intensity of the kiss until we are only touch lips to lips. I continue moving, kissing the corners of his lips, gently turning his head as my kisses travel up his face to the psi points. Very carefully, very deliberately, I initiate deeper telepathic contact.

It takes him by surprise at first, but then he smiles. He angles his face to give me better access, tilting to the side. I brush my fingers against his cheeks, leaving a line of telepathic kisses that has Jim's heart rate elevated, his eyes glowing. When I finally press the tip of my middle finger against his temple, Jim exhales through swollen lips. The blue of his eyes seems to glow.

"Holy shit, Spock," he breathes.

I smile, sending that feeling to him through my touch. I add my index finger and thumb as points of contact to open the line wider, allowing some limited two way communication. Jim turns his face slowly, allowing me to keep my hand in place. Our eyes meet and a rush of amazement, thoughts entangled and tumbling followed by slight disorientation and confusion as Jim tries to navigate through a sensation entirely alien to him.

"This isn't like the meld. At all," he whispers.

The meld with my counterpart was meant to be an information transfer.

"Woah. This is weird. You're not saying anything, but it's like I can hear you."

For all intents and purposes, you are. I am communicating to you through the auditory system, sending signals directly to your primary auditory cortex.

"But you can hit other centers, if you want."

Affirmative.

"That's fucking awesome."

If you so desire, I can teach you to communicate with me through other avenues as well.

"Hell yeah."

For example, you do not need to continue vocalizing your thoughts, Jim.

His mind ignites with laughter. I can feel the way his stomach muscles contract, the air leaving his lungs, subtle shifts in the muscles of his face. More than that, through our weak connection is the low thrum of all his neural activity, the way his body is still coiled with anticipation for sex.

Jim picks up on that line of thought and sends composites of images mixed with sensation.

Fascinating. Jim naturally thinks and processes in images. It is not surprising, but the way his mind creates and analyzes those images is incredible.

He covers my hand with his, running his fingers over mine.

Round three?

I withdraw my hand from his face but allow my telepathy to expand. When Jim touches me again, he grins as my telepathy reaches for him.

In his mind flashes an image of a room dark then light, a switch going on and off. That's what it feels like.

I send him another image, that of a room with large windows showing the muted darkness of dawn. I kiss him down his neck, making sure that I am always touching him somewhere. The purple dawn transforms, becomes lighter, the room steadily becomes clear until morning light touches every part.

His hand skimming along the skin of my abdomen and a memory—for a split second I see our apartment in Brooklyn, I am bent over the table of our electronics, cast in green light and shadow by the pale light of dawn.

My grip pushing him against the wall and fingers trailing the contours of his body and a response—Jim silhouetted against the Manhattan skyline, expression free, mixed into that recollection is my own longing to stand at his side.

His legs splaying out and our calves touching as memory and thought become disjointed giving way to a fevered desire to touch taste feel again and again to write each other into our skin let everything sink deep into our bones the blood rushing and surging being aware only of syllables of yes and yes and more and more and here and take and mine and yours and more and _please_ and wait and kiss the tips of thumbs the sides of tongues the pressure building between contact relaxing tightening releasing almost touching in mind but not a bond, communication racing through skin like flint hitting steel and sparks and fire and igniting and burning. In the middle of that fire in the midst of the flame is surety confidence conclusion bones turning to blood and blood turning to water of cool satisfaction like quenching thirst like touching a reservoir like a dark pool that holds secrets and intimate silence.

Emerges a memory, a memory of a word whispered in desperation, in deep loneliness and freezing uncertainty, taking hold of the blood warmth and hoping against all hope, finding a reason to keep walking.

"Stay," he remembers.

My heart my mind embrace him surround him as my arms support him and he leans into me eyes closed but skin to skin the feelings _stay_ and _trust_ soaking into us and I kiss him again, long and soft, making no claim but giving a promise.

I stay.


	170. Ch 170

"Nyota, Sulu, time to see how much you've learned. I'm giving these next two missions to you. Divvy them up however you like—share command, focus on one, whatever. You've got free reign, me and Spock'll stand on the sidelines."

"Unless things go to pieces?" Sulu frowned.

Jim grinned.

"I think you both can handle everything."

Nyota and Sulu shared a worried look.

"You'll be fine. You've led away missions before, you've both had command of the ship for a few shifts. You've even commanded her during firefights. You guys'll be fine."

"You and Spock have always been right there beside us, though."

"If you really think you can't handle a situation, we'll step in and take over. I don't anticipate that anything dire will happen though, since these missions are low key. At least, that's what Number One told me. I think it's the perfect opportunity for you guys learn how to manage all the parts."

"This isn't just a big ruse to dump the boring missions on us, is it," Nyota said, eyes narrowed.

"If I can kill two birds with one stone, I will," Jim smiled.

"Nyota, the captain and I will be evaluating your performance and critiquing your decisions. You are free to place us wherever you feel our skills are most needed. One of the purposes of this exercise is for yourself and Lt. Sulu to branch out of your specializations and learn to command the full measure of resources available to you on a starship, including the crew. The captain has chosen a specific organization—"

"Specific? You told me yesterday that I was so ad hoc about things, it drove you up the wall when we first started. Probably still does, if I know you."

"I meant the word 'specific' in the sense that you have chosen a flexible organizational paradigm rather than Starfleet's preferred centralized military model, not 'specific' as a descriptor of your style."

"That makes sense. Anyway, you were saying?"

"In the process of running the ship, you may find that the captain's preferences do not suit your own needs."

"Wait, so you're suggesting that we completely change the way this ship works and restructure the departments for a few missions?" Sulu asked, mildly panicked.

"No, we're not asking you to take over the _Enterprise_. Spock's just giving you too much information like he usually does, and telling you that when you become captain, you'll have to decide how you want to run departments, whether you want to build a core command team, that sort of thing."

"The information I relate to you is always relevant, captain."

"Except when it's not."

"The more information we have, the better able we are able to understand the nature of whatever problem we are facing, thus allowing us to make the appropriate decisions."

"Spock, not all of us have eidetic memories and can absorb a gigabyte of information in the space of five seconds. Too many details, and I'd get bogged down in the minutiae."

A concern came to the forefront of my mind.

"Then when we are on Red Alert—"

Jim shook his head.

"When emergencies happen, you always tell me exactly what I need to know. You can't _talk_ at light speed, so with the time constraints, you boil everything down to the essentials."

"If you do not integrate all of the information I give you for regular missions, which are already stripped down from the original files to what I consider the salient points, then on what do you base your decisions?"

"I don't know. Intuition? Experience? It's not like I ignore what you or the others tell me—I just apply a sieve to keep in mind the most important stuff or anything that strikes me."

"If that is the case, then how can you know that I have not already filtered out what you might consider to be important? The dataset you receive has already been narrowed by my own 'sieve,' restricted by my own judgments of what is necessary."

"Why do you think I ask you questions?"

A pause.

"Fascinating."

Jim laughed.

"If Spock were captain, he'd run this ship completely differently."

"True that," Sulu grinned.

"My style of command is closer to his," Nyota said, voice thoughtful.

"Well, your thought process is closer to his. I think you're more like me, Sulu."

"Yeah, I can see the similarities, comparatively speaking. So what are these next missions we've got coming up?"

"A diplomatic mission, and a science-ish mission. Science-security. Our usual stuff. The datapads are here, pick your bridge teams, away teams, assemble your specialists. And like Spock said, you can put us anywhere you want. Just a heads up, Scotty's running diagnostics and checks on all the ship's systems, so unless you really need an engineer or something, don't mess with his department."

Nyota and Sulu were already looking through the datapads, marking them up with their styluses.

"Right. Let me or Spock know who's got what mission, and we'll let you know when you've got command."

"Aye, sir."

"Understood, captain."

"We'll be on the bridge. Good luck."

--

"I've got the Dagazocito diplomatic mission, Sulu's tackling the investigation on wildlife trafficking."

"Your teams?"

"Modified rosters for the bridge crew. Lt. Karapus's my primary helmsman. She's a good pilot, wants to log more hours on the bridge. There's a stretch of ion interference on the edge of Sector G-23. We should avoid it, since Pasha's laying in a course to Dagazocito, but I want someone steady when we get close, just in case."

"Lt. Paa's sent the routine transmissions to Starfleet. He'll be my primary communications officer, familiar with all the necessary diplomatic codes. Otherwise, we decided to leave the bridge rosters as they are. Everyone on there is solid."

"And your away teams?"

"Yota and I've held off on deciding teams when we go planetside, but I'm consulting with Giotto to set up investigatory teams, talking to people in the science department, that sort of thing."

"I have Dr. Tsai looking into the archeological claims, set up a research team for more information on Vobnigorni's history. I also have an appointment set up with Lt. Shaw, since I have some questions about the legal status of the planet."

"Great. Who're you naming as your second in command?"

"We drew names."

"I got you, captain. It makes sense, since you'll have to come down on the diplomatic mission anyway and make appearances."

"And I got the commander."

"What do you want us to do? Got an outline of duties?"

"Uh, not yet. We're not that organized yet. But I guess you should do the same thing you do for each other? Make suggestions, that sort of thing," Sulu paused. "Go easy on me, commander."

"I am uncertain that attempting to emulate the dynamic between myself and captain is the best way to proceed."

"They'll figure it out, Spock. Seriously, don't chew them out yet, just go with it."

"We using you and the captain as a model and we'll tweak things as we go along. But we have to start somewhere," Nyota explained.

"Why did you not think to name each other as second in command?"

"Yota suggested it, but we looked at the amount of work we have to do preparing for these missions—I don't care if you think they're low key, captain, this is a lot of work—and neither of us think we could handle that."

Jim nodded.

"Yeah, all the prep work can be overwhelming. I think emergencies are easier, since you're just flying by the seat of your pants. Though, paperwork afterwards is hell. You guys'll be great."

"Easy for you to say."

"There is no reason to be apprehensive, Lt. Sulu. I am certain you and Lt. Uhura will carry out the duties expected in an exemplary manner."

Sulu blinked, caught on the words "exemplary manner." He turned to the captain.

"My respect for you has just skyrocketed. You were a first time captain and you specifically requested Spock as your First Officer?"

Jim laughed. I raised an eyebrow.

"Seriously, this puts all your fights in a different context. I don't think I could've done it."

"You've just got a different way of doing things, that's all. I needed someone who'd challenge me."

"Challenging is putting it kindly," Nyota remarked.

Jim shrugged.

"We figured out how to work with each other."

"To say the least," she smiled.

Jim smirked. I resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow.

"If that's all, then you've got the conn Nyota, from here to Vobnigorni."

"And since you're my First Officer, I'm giving the conn back to you. I have a meeting with Dr. Tsai."

"Don't get too bogged down looking at all the details."

"I'm trying to find a balance. I thought that since we're just flying through space, I could leave ship operations to you, for now. If an emergency comes up, let me know."

"Good. I mean, yes ma'am," Jim grinned.

"No wonder they just gave you a ship. You'd be a terrible subordinate officer."

"Hey, I was a great First Officer with Spock!"

I gave into my urge and raised an eyebrow.

"Captain, you attacked me on the bridge in the presence of security personnel."

"And then he marooned you," Sulu added.

Jim waved away the comment, affecting nonchalance.

"Details."

Nyota shook her head, smiling. She then looked pointedly at the captain.

"The conn?"

"All right, all right. You just like ordering me around."

"It does have a certain appeal."

"I'll go in a few minutes. I need to discuss stuff with Spock. Anything else you want to tell me?"

"That's all."

"Okay. Then clear the conference room."

When Sulu and Nyota had left, Jim picked up the datapad.

"So, what do you think?"

"They are following your example very closely."

"Yeah, that's what I thought too. Nyota might end up micromanaging everything. That's great when she's with me, but when she's the one actually making the deal and negotiating?"

"She will adjust. Nyota is a fast learner and has already proven to be flexible in emergency situations."

"Cestus."

"Precisely. I will also remind you that you were the one who suggested stepping back and allowing Nyota and Sulu free reign of these missions. Do you regret that decision?"

"No. But this is our ship."

"I am certain that they recognize the full weight of the responsibility you are placing on them."

"I think it's making Sulu nervous."

"I noted that as well. The nervousness is not characteristic of him."

"He'll probably forget it when he's actually doing something, instead of waiting, assembling teams, reading a bunch of briefs."

"You are speaking from personal experience?"

"Yeah. The first few hours in command, sitting there on the bridge, I thought I'd go crazy, so I just invented a bunch of things to do."

"I recall your restlessness," I replied, warmth filling my voice.

"You got really annoyed," he smiled, eyes bright.

In hindsight, the memories of our first days serving together were not altogether unpleasant.

Jim threaded his fingers through mine. We held it for a few moments, then released our hands.

"I've got to go. Chess tonight?"

"I believe the set is currently in my quarters."

"I'll see you then. You'll be in the lab?"

"I am due for a physical with M'Benga, then I agreed to assist Mr. Scott and his engineers."

"Okay," Jim stood and gave me a quick kiss.

We exited the room and went our separate ways.


	171. Ch 171

Jim and I entered the conference room. It was fuller than usual, as Nyota decided to include various experts in the proceedings. There was Dr. Tsai, an archeological expert, Dr. McBride, a historian, Dr. Borisov-Murakovsky, an expert in xenocultural development, and Dr. Jung, an anthropologist. Also present was Dr. Dunn, a specialist in archaeometry and Dr. Praetzellis, a psychologist. Ensigns, yeomen, and officers of various departments were also present. Jim took in the sight, but made no comment.

"All right," Nyota stood in front of the presentation screen. "This mission to Dagazocito is unusual because the Vobnigorni are claiming that they have incontrovertible proof that their planet is the origin of all humanoids. Most of the experts, including everyone here, agree that this claim is ridiculous. But this entire region of space was recently devastated local interplanetary wars, and Starfleet's worried about the stability of the planet. A claim like this shows an alarming willingness to grasp at planetist ideas, and that could quickly snowball into yet another war. The experts I've assembled here have all prepared presentations that go into more detail. Dr. Tsai, Dr. Dunn, would you like to start?"

The two doctors shuffled around their datapads and went in to the front of the room.

"Right. Thank you, Lt. Uhura. I'm Dr. Tsai, I received a specialization in archeology, then enlisted in Starfleet as a science officer."

"I'm Dr. Dunn. I'm also an archeologist, but I deal more with the scientific analysis of artifacts and the application of scientific methodology to the field of archeology."

"Now, we don't know very many historical facts, but in terms of archeological evidence, a few years ago, a few Vobnigorni hikers were hiking the lowlands when, as their claim goes, they discovered an ancient pyramid. This pyramid is located in the hills, which is why they say it's been undiscovered until now. But the hikers found an entrance, and from there they entered the pyramid. It goes without saying that none of this was scientific, properly recorded, or excavated according to universally accepted standards.

"What they discovered was an interesting find for the planet Dagozocito, but these hikers, considering themselves amateur archeologists, have gone so far as to publically proclaim that the pyramid contains proof that they are the fathers of all humanoids. The government has endorsed this, and now the pyramid has become a major symbol for the Vobnigorni, despite the fact that most of Dagozocito's archeologists, historians, evolutionary scientists do not support any these theories. Dr. Dunn?"

"With respect to the dating of this pyramid, it's definitely not the cradle of humanoid civilization as we know it. The most recent paper on the pyramid contains results of multiple C-14 tests on the mortar holding the pyramid together—apparently there's quite a lot of fecal matter mixed in—to date the structure. This pyramid wasn't even put together by the time the Orions made their immunization breakthroughs. But scientists and academics of all kinds are being criticized, punished for publishing these results and speaking against the myth of the pyramid. What's more, these cases tend to attract treasure hunters and manufacture of fake artifacts.

"Our plan for this mission is to corroborate those measurements using our Starfleet equipment and obtaining absolutely scientific documentation of everything they've discovered. "

"Thanks, both you. Dr. McBride, has some historical context for this situation."

The next presentation came onscreen quickly and efficiently.

"Two of the most important questions that I considered were, why has this pyramid business become a kind of symbol for the Vobnigorni, and why are they so insistent on having this claim validated by Starfleet?

"The most obvious answer is war, and while it's not always the case that that answer is correct, I think in this case, war is very much the answer. Like Lt. Uhura said in her intro, these planets have recently been hit with massive interplanetary wars. Starfleet sent four Mediators to try and negotiate a cease fire, but nothing was ever worked out. The diplomatic aspect of the war is beyond the scope of my talk, I'm going to talk more about the origins and reasons, and also why I think they came up with this outlandish claim in the first place.

"There are four planets that can inhabit life in this system and amazingly, they all developed humanoid life. It's something that I think no one's been able to figure out. That point aside—that's more Jung's field than mine—power games between these four planets have been going on ever since they were aware of each other. It's more accurate to think of them as nations vying for the dominant place in the balance of power. Interplanetary wars—more like skirmishes—have been going on for several hundred years now.

"That balance of power changed when the Tellarites made First Contact. The Tellarites were totally unaware of this whole dynamic—who could be? It was a First Contact—but they visited Crsitanio. It wasn't long before the captain'd figured out what was going on, but power balance was already shifting. The Tellarites contacted the other three planets, including Dagozocito, but, if you'll pardon the stereotype, Tellarites aren't exactly known for their diplomatic skills. They fumbled the negotiations badly. I'll skip over some of the details about treaties and the exact sequence of events, but you can trace the origin of this particular long war to some extent—it took quite some time to develop—to First Contact.

"For various reasons more related to military strategy, inherent problems in the Vobnigorni's government, and so forth, they've come out as the losers of this war. Their planet was stripped of resources, it was never very wealthy or well managed to begin with, though they were once the top dogs. Anyway, they're clinging to this idea of being the fathers of humanoid civilization in response to that defeat. As the fathers, or mothers, or just founders, they think it's their right, they want to take their place again in the four planets, and possibly have higher megalomaniacal aspirations for the Federation. This is just a bad situation, potentially explosive, it could mobilize the population for another war that might just annihilate them and their neighbors while they're at it."

"I would like to qualify a few of Dr. McBride's statements," Dr. Borisov-Murakovsky stood without preamble. "Tracing the origin of the planetism has been difficult. It definitely came out in full force after First Contact, and most believe that Tellarite attitudes significantly influence the system. The system's recent scholarship is tinted with blatantly planetist viewpoints, but there is reason to believe that during certain periods, there were strong positive relations between planets. Tracing the cultural strains, there's evidence of mixing, interchanges of ideas that could only have taken place in a less radically planetist environment."

Beside me, Jim was bouncing his leg. He paid attention to the comments, but I could see that his focus was not entirely on the scientists. Nyota, however, listened to everything and noted anything that struck her as important. If Jim were running this meeting, he would undoubtedly have asked myself or Nyota for a brief summary, come to a decision on the objectives of the mission, and assigned all the scientists present to away teams.

He gave me a look, touched the back of my hand.

She's trying to micromanage. This is way too much information, she doesn't need it all for the mission. I told you this would happen.

Nyota has a style distinct from yours, Jim. It will likely change and adapt according to the situation. That is the purpose of this exercise.

Yeah. But this is _boring_.

I returned my attention to the presentations, where Dr. Jung was giving an summary of the unique societies that developed and the implications of having four humanoid species in close contact with each other.

When all the presentations were over, Nyota invited the others to ask questions and add the comments and opinions about the situation.

"Why not just tell them that their claims are false and move on with it?"

"If they don't believe their own scientists, do you think they'll believe us? It's not likely that they're going to accept anything that we say against their theory."

"If you don't mind me asking, Lt. Uhura, then what's the point of this mission? How can we even try to stabilize a region that so self deluded? They'll end up going to war anyway and probably destroy themselves."

"The destruction of an entire species is never an option, Yeoman Refnfrew. I'd like to know your ideas about this."

"Can we apply psychology to a planet? Or a people? I mean, if we're able to build up their economy and infrastructure so that they have real accomplishments to look to, then they won't have to rely on fake ideas about being the cradle of galactic civilization."

"But then the other planets might accuse us of being biased, trying to give the loser an advantage," Lt. Bahn interrupted. "This isn't going to work without looking at those other planets."

"Dr. Praetzellis, your comments about the psychology of a species—can you really make all those generalizations? I mean, they are humanoid, but they're completely different. Even with humans and Tellarites, we're not the same and the same psychological rules can't apply."

"That goes into the field of comparative psychology and neuroscience, Lt. Ogundele, and it's a valid concern. But I believe there are certain psychological principles universal among humanoid species, and tweaking those basic models is what yields the individual profile. There are, of course, those who disagree with this idea."

"Lt. Uhura, I'm kinda confused. What's central to this mission? Is it the pyramids and the stuff about humanoids, or is it the context of the war? Why're we even talking about these amateur hikers or whatever?"

"What's central to this mission is the idea of a symbol, the power and potential it can have among a species, especially one that's lost a war. This is a diplomatic-scientific mission with two purposes. One is to look into their claim and have it scientifically examined, the other is to make sure the region doesn't fall again into warfare."

"Do you really think war could break out just because we take a symbol away from them?"

"Do you really want to hit someone when they're down?" Lt. Bahn answered.

"Let's make this clear," Nyota said, commanding the attention of all in the room.

Jim looked at me. Well, she's got the voice down. Good command presence.

"This is a diplomatic scientific mission, where the science is an integral part of the diplomacy. Those of you assigned to science teams, don't disclose any of your results until you are absolutely certain. I'm not going to lie to these people, but we're going to navigate this situation very carefully. Lt. Shaw and I have been in close conversation about how to handle this from a legal perspective, and everything really depends on the findings. I'm not going to eliminate the possibility that the captain will stumble across another pyramid and change everything."

Ripples of laughter went around the room.

"It's the Kirk-force," Lt. Ogundele said.

"Starfleet hasn't classified this mission as sensitive, but I want everyone to treat it that way. But if they ask questions, be honest. Answer their questions as best as you can. We don't want any accusations of being secretive and manipulating the data—that's just ammunition for more hostility. That being said, don't bend over backward to accommodate them."

Micromanaging, he looked.

Jim. You judge preemptively. It is important to be explicit when you give orders and leave no room for ambiguity. You would do well to learn from Nyota.

Hey, everything gets done.

That is only because we, your core command, are able to interpret your orders.

Jim turned his attention back again to Nyota. Our entire conversation took place in looks and touches. If we had a bond—I hold off on that thought.

"I'm going to be leading negotiations, but some of you—my officers in Communications—will notice that I've assigned you to diplomatic teams. You'll be sent to the other three planets to initiate plans, gather data about their attitudes. The captain and I will be visiting them, but I want to get right down to business when I meet them. So those are your duties. Okay, any questions?"

"We're working in Code 2?"

"Yes, standard encryption. You have four hours to get your equipment together—that should've been done before this meeting—and report to the transporter rooms at the times I've given you. Anything else?" she looked around the room. "No? Then dismissed."

--

"How'd I do?"

"Great. A little more detail-oriented than I'm used to, but that's your prerogative. I've tried doing presentations, wasn't really my thing. Though, I've never thought of having a Q&A discussion like that. Usually people never agree on what to do."

"I thought about that. I mean, I looked at all the briefs and reports beforehand and had a plan, but I wanted to see if people had any better ideas. Some of the ways they phrased their questions got me thinking about other possibilities."

"As long as you've got a clear objective and you let people know how you want it executed."

"But sometimes that's not enough," Nyota replied. "I know that's your style of doing things, but it's been different for me working with the people in the Communications Department. The degree of freedom you give to your department heads would cause major confusion—even contradictory interpretations of your priorities—for others. Especially earlier in your command, I had to figure out what exactly you wanted when it came to the day-to-day duties."

"Look, the way I see it, this ship's full of geniuses. Let you guys figure out the best way to get the job done. Freedom allows for creative solutions, things I never would've thought of if I laid it out step by step."

"Be that as it may, captain, freedom does not always lend to creativity. Certain constraints must be present, an underlying structure must exist if the results of that creativity are to be meaningful and effective."

"That's why I'm the captain, Spock. Provide direction, all that? Things get done on this ship, or people wouldn't be calling it the best in the Fleet."

"There is also the fact that individuals respond to you."

"What do you mean?"

"The crew believe that they may achieve the impossible because you accomplish the extraordinary on a regular basis. There is a difference between a leader who inspires, and a one whose primary strength lies in managing systems effectively."

"You think I inspire people?"

"A definite tone is set."

"You think I inspire people! You even said it."

"Stupidity can be inspired," Nyota smiled.

"I'm onto him. I'm onto you too, lieutenant."

"Jim, the mission."

He gave me a knowing look.

I returned it.

"Anyway. The mission. I think you're doing fine. It's not how I'd do things—"

"As we've made abundantly clear."

"—but everything that needs to get done is going to be done. Everything's good."

Nyota seemed thoughtful.

"I guess we'll have to see how this mission turns out. What would you have done?"

"Lieutenant."

"Yes?"

"My plan wouldn't've been the same, but that doesn't make it better or worse. Relax. You've handled diplomacy before, missions ten times worse than this, and come out with a great treaty."

"It just feels different, now that I'm organizing the entire mission. There's so much more to consider, not only diplomacy but the science teams and the rooming arrangements, rosters and transporter security to look at."

"I know. I learned to delegate, you guys picked up my slack. You'll be fine."

Nyota gave him a skeptical look.

"Trust yourself on this, all right? Better yet—go find Scotty or something and have lunch with him. You're not going to be seeing him much for the next few days, with the tight schedule you've got set up."

"Thanks. You've got the conn, captain."

"You know, I think I've had the conn more than I usually do when I'm actually in command."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Nyota laughed.


	172. Ch 172

There are times when, despite all the careful planning, despite considering every possible contingency, there is nothing one can do but improvise.

Such as now. Jim and Nyota are, at this moment, being held "hostage" in the very pyramid that is claimed to be the starting point of all humanoids.

Fortunately, their communicators are still functional.

"It's not too bad. Just a bunch of old rocks and dirt. They don't even have cave paintings or whatever. I really don't see what's the big deal."

"Lt. Uhura, will you repeat the demands of the Vobnigorni?"

"They want the Federation to recognize their claims and I quote, 'Pronounce once and for all the truth of the origins of all civilization and sentience.'"

"They are not asking for much, are they?" Pavel grinned. "Keptan, I haf your signal. We can beam you up."

"It's the lieutenant's decision. What's your move, Uhura?"

"Captain, I cannot see how this situation might be used to our advantage. You are being held against your will in a dilapidated structure that, from satellite pictures, is indistinguishable from the small hills of the surrounding area."

"Call it an exercise in creativity. My best ideas come from being stuck in the weirdest situations. It's her choice."

"I think I've got an idea. Chekov, beam us up. This mission is turning into a headache. Lt. Paa, have all the away teams checked in?"

"The science teams are still collecting data, the diplomatic parties report that everything's proceeded smoothly."

"Did the science team indicate how much longer they'd need for the rest of data collection?"

"Dr. Tsai changed plans and has decided on site for the duration of our stay in this system, lieutenant."

"All right. Chekov, energize."

--

"It was kind of funny," Jim shrugged. "The hostage situation wasn't even that serious. They waved their weapons and herded us into the pyramid to 'contemplate its many beauties and perfections.' I mean, they must've known that our transporters could get us out."

"I'm not so sure about that, captain. Did you see their technology? They've got warp, but our transporters are magnitudes stronger."

"Which is interesting, because the warfare should've accelerated their technological capabilities," Dr. McBride frowned. "That's how almost every system pushes their limits."

"Not necessarily. If the resources just aren't there, then innovation is limited. Dagozocito's never been very rich the necessary resources and towards the end of the war, they were running low on everything, to the point where mass starvation was a real concern," Nyota replied.

"But the absence of materials can still inspire awesome ingenuity. You know, where there's a will, there's a way," Dr. Praetzellis said. "Look at the Vulcans and their desert environment. Most humans would think that nothing could come from the desert, but Vulcans developed warp capability and amazing technology centuries before most civilizations were even born."

"I hear they're going through a technological revolution as we speak, rebuilding on Vulcan II," Dr. McBride added.

"I still don't think that's the case here," she shook her head. "And we're getting off topic. What worries me most is the fact that they think this pyramid business is more important than economic aid, as though it'll restore lost prestige.

"There were 47 references to their 'illustrious and magnificent past' in their welcome speech alone. Forty seven! The planetism is out of control. And more than that, we can't know if any aid we give them won't be spent towards rebuilding their military. Agreements for disarmament between the other three planets seem unlikely."

"Lieutenant, you know that having boots on the ground is not an option here," the captain warned. "Lt. Shaw made it clear that we don't have those kinds of resources to rehabilitate this region. Fleet's spread thin."

"History's shown that in situations like these, a large peacekeeping force and boots on the ground, as you say, occupying the system are the only effective way of ensuring things don't explode again," Dr. McBride said, shaking his head. "The _Narada_ hit at exactly the wrong time. The Federation needs more starbases to keep stability after the increase in member planets."

"I am not certain that there would ever be an ideal time for the _Narada_ to attack the Federation, doctor."

He reddened.

"Of course, I didn't meant to imply, rather thoughtless of me to say that—"

"We're getting off topic again. I need ideas."

"Recommend to Starfleet that they build a base nearby, following Dr. McBride's suggestion?" Dr. Praetzellis said.

"I might, but building a base isn't going to happen anytime soon."

"Economic aid," Jim answered.

"Has its own risks involved. And this pyramid thing—the data's conclusive. There's absolutely nothing extraordinary about the structure, but everyone on the planet seems to have pyramid fever. Dr. Borisov-Murakovsky, you haven't said anything yet. Is there something on your mind?"

"I cannot help but think that we are addressing this from the wrong point of view."

"How so?"

"The planetism is an aspect of their culture, and if we were able to exert influence there and change certain attitudes of all four planets, it would lead to a better resolution."

"But there's such a long history of animosity there—"

"There have been cases in their collective past, Dr. McBride, when they cooperated with each other, instead of clinging to these planetist tendencies. If the doors are opened for honest dialog, the pyramid mania would lessen and other relations—economic, political, technological—would rapidly follow."

"But changing a culture can take years. Cultural revolutions are dangerous and unpredictable in their own right, and you can't anticipate the turns it'll take and the effect on the psychology of a planet," Dr. Praetzellis replied.

"Here's an idea," Jim leaned forward. "Why not suggest that the four member planets create a sort of confederation."

"A confederation? Right after the war?"

"Why not? As a confederation, their standing in the Federation goes up, they get more benefits and the whole system gets an economic aid package, their votes counts for more in the Council. Spock?"

"The four planets have much to gain from joining to form a confederation. It is also advantageous from our point of view as it strengthens the ties between them, lessening the probability of another war. As time goes on, they will become interdependent, rather than establish a pattern of constant competition."

"Make a confederation and they won't pull the trigger on each other."

"Captain, Commander, you are men of high ambitions," Dr. Borisov-Murakovsky replied. "I am no expert on this, but to oversee the creation of an entire government is—I cannot imagine it to be an easy task."

"I like the idea, though," Dr. McBride nodded.

"Hold on. It's a possible solution, but they might decide that costs aren't worth the benefits. And we'd have other problems, like how would they divide the economic aid? They all have very different demographics and needs—Vobnigorni's smaller than any of the other planets, but arguably it needs the most aid."

"That is true," I agreed. "It may be necessary to post a Mediator to this region, to minimize conflict."

"Assuming that the four planets want to try this in the first place."

"But I think it'd be better to have a Mediator guiding this system instead of resorting to building a starbase. It's less expensive, and they don't feel like their sovereignty or whatnot is threatened by the military presence. You don't want them uniting because they see us to be the enemy," Jim pointed out.

"Bridge to Lt. Uhura, bridge to Lt. Uhura."

"Uhura here."

"Lieutenant, we've got a transmission from Dagazocito. They, uh, want to know where you are."

Nyota smiled and shook her head.

"Put them on hold, Lt. Paas. I'll be on the bridge momentarily."

"Understood."

The captain was observing Nyota closely.

"Lieutenant?"

"Dr. Borisov-Murakovsky, Dr. Praetzellis, Dr. McBride, I'd like you to write evaluations of the viability of the creation of a confederation including these planets. Captain Kirk, if you could get into contact with Lt. Shaw to look into the legal ramifications. I'm going to beam down to the planet with a security team and talk to their government to gauge how willing they might be to try this. I'll be checking in with the teams on the other planets. Commander Spock, you have the conn. Inform Dr. Tsai, Dr. Jung, and Dr. Dunn of the relevant facts."

--

"An intriguing suggestion, commander. And an interesting exercise. I was not aware that you and the captain were actively training your officers for command positions. I would like a copy of your evaluations on their performance," Number One was on the screen.

"I believe that this method of direct training and apprenticeship is, in many aspects, superior to the method employed in the Academy' Command School. It has presented a unique opportunity for myself, the captain, and the officers to observe the different ways by which a ship may be run."

"Indeed. I will consider any recommendations you forward to my office."

"Understood."

"As for this matter of a confederation, you stated that the captain devised this solution?"

"The idea emerged from a discussion conducted by Lt. Uhura with her chosen panel of experts. The captain suggested the idea, but the success or failure of the implementation will ultimately depend on the teams Lt. Uhura has chosen and their ability to cooperate with each other, and execute her orders. Lt. Uhura herself is managing the multilateral talks."

"I look forward to tracking her progress. I assume that all final reports will be submitted by her."

"Affirmative, with supplemental reports provided by myself and the captain."

"I will see what I can do to find a mediation team to send to that sector. If the talks are successful, then this will be a significant achievement for Lt. Uhura and the _Enterprise_. The Diplomatic Corps may try to recruit her. And possibly the captain, and your communications officers."

"It is a distinct possibility."

"Commander, I thank you for this update. I will send you a transmission as soon as possible with respect to the mediators. Number One out."


	173. Ch 173

Jim entered my quarters and collapsed onto the bed. After an interval, he raised his head and moaned.

"That was a fucking long day. I hate diplomacy."

I raised an eyebrow.

"The talks were unsuccessful."

"No. Yes. Kind of. I don't know. Nyota thinks they went well. We've got another round tomorrow. She's psyched out about the results, and all I've got is fucking headache."

I put down my datapad and went to Jim.

"Lie straight, Jim."

"What're you doing?" he adjusted his position.

I put my hands to his shoulders and began rubbing slow circles into his tense muscles.

"Shit," Jim exhaled. "Is this another one of those learning curve things?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Is there anything you're not good at? Out of curiosity?" he mumbled.

"In what capacity are you requesting this evaluation of my strengths and weaknesses? I may enumerate the areas for which I am unsuited in terms of command, or I may answer your question in terms of character."

"Spock. It was rhetorical."

"I see," I continued to knead along his back and sides.

"Sometimes I think you do that on purpose. Misunderstand me. Ow, fuck that hurt."

"It is strange that you consistently state that you have a strong aversion to diplomatic missions, yet you are quite an effective diplomat."

"Was that a compliment or a question?"

"Both. I would like to ascertain the reason as to why you become tired after diplomatic missions but are able to manage emergency situations with fewer side effects."

"That feels good."

"You are not listening to me."

"I'm listening. Kind of hard to give you an intelligent answer when my brain's turned into a puddle. Didn't know Vulcan hands had so many secrets."

"Indeed."

A pause. I continued, massaging his thighs, calves, rolling his ankles, feet, then gradually moving back up to his spine, shoulders, neck, lower skull. Jim made various sounds of to signal his satisfaction, the presence of pain. Through the cloth, I could feel the sharp edge of his headache receding.

"You still want me to answer that question, don't you."

"It can wait."

"You and Nyota, practically everyone, thinks that I'm a better diplomat than I actually am. But I'm not. I don't actually know anything about navigating the small details of a treaty. That feels good. Yeah, right there," he exhaled. "Anyway, I only just learned—Shaw really knows her stuff—how treaties actually work. They aren't technically binding, did you know that?"

"Yes. Neither party is legally obligated to fulfill the terms of the treaties they sign. The power of treaties is oftentimes purely symbolic, a gesture of cooperation between parties. It is incumbent on the signers to uphold the agreement, as there is no outside authority to enforce the terms."

"Well, I didn't. My point is, it takes a lot of maneuvering. Knowing where you can compromise—ow—and where you can push things. I don't have the time to look at that kind of detail for each mission, let alone remember them. You and Nyota are good at that. Okay, that spot really hurts."

"Then you dislike diplomatic missions because you feel you are not proficient in diplomacy?"

"I don't know. Kind of. Can you go up a little higher? Mostly I'm not that type of person. It's not my thing, getting all bureaucratic and technical. I'm better with command, big picture stuff."

"The treaty—"

"Spock, all I do is get two people to the table. That's all. You get them to see eye to eye. I get them to stand each other's presence in the same room. We're like the good cop/bad cop team, and I'm fine with that. Don't worry about it."

"And this recent mission?"

"It feels kind of sore right there."

"Here?" I moved my hands.

"Yeah. That. Ow."

"Relax, Jim."

"I am. God. You should do this to me every night."

"I believe I do many things to you every night."

Jim laughed.

"Sometimes not at night," his voice suggestive.

"Indeed."

Another pause.

"Anyway," Jim said, shifting his position. "This mission was all Nyota. She's good at that stuff, she knows it, likes it. Watching her negotiate's kind of like watching a sport—fun, if you're into political word battles. Or debate. Was she on the Fleet debate team?"

"Much of her free time was consumed by her track practices and membership in the xenolingusitics club."

"Huh. Didn't know that. Cool."

"Have you revised your opinion of her style of leadership?"

"I don't know. I can see how a more horizontal type of organization could be useful in missions like these—I would never've thought about the confederation idea if she didn't hold that brainstorm session."

"But you have reservations."

"This is military, Spock. Firefights, that shit doesn't hold."

"There is no indication that Nyota would conduct the ship in that manner during a firefight."

"I know. But military structures in general don't encourage horizontal organization. The whole chain of command thing."

"That does not imply that a less vertical command formation cannot be implemented effectively on a starship."

"I'm not arguing with you, okay? Just saying that it's different from what they teach at Command School back at the Academy."

"Agreed."

Jim groaned.

"That feels obscene."

"This?"

"That," he breathed, "and you agreeing with me on something."

"I agree. The combination is rare."

"You're enjoying this."

"As are you. It is a mutally enjoyable experience."

"Makes up for the hours in that room, trying to to be diplomatic. Why'd they have to split the missions up this way—I seriously thought I'd get out of this one."

"Then Nyota's conjecture was correct."

"Do I even have to confirm that for you?"

"No."

"Didn't think so."

A pause.

"To answer your question—"

"Rhetorical. Spock, you've got to learn that concept."

"I have already mastered it. However, though you asked without the intent of receiving an answer, I believe it is an interesting question that merits consideration."

"You're going to tell me anyway."

"Nyota and Sulu both chose their respective missions because it plays to their strengths."

"Yeah, you're telling me anyway. Ow! All right, I'm listening."

"Nyota is working closely with the Science and Communications Departments where she is familiar, while Sulu is organizing his mission with Science and Security Departments."

"Makes sense. Guess I'll have to assign missions later that puts them out of their element."

"I believe you should do that later. It would be better to allow them to become familiar with standard operations before giving them missions that they feel are out of their areas of expertise."

"I didn't have that luxury."

"You are also the youngest captain in Starfleet's history, promoted directly from cadet to captain."

"Can you believe that was two years ago?"

"No."

Jim laughed into the bed.

"Hey, why're you stopping?"

"Your headache is gone, your body totally relaxed. There is no need to continue."

"But it feels good."

"True."

"Spock."

"Jim."

"There's a spot right under my shoulder—"

"I have a meeting with Sulu in ten minutes concerning his upcoming mission."

"Damn."

"Sleep, Jim. You have another series of meetings to write the treaty for the creation of this confederation. I believe that Lt. Shaw is scheduled to send a transmission at 0900 hours."

"Great. Just great. Why do we always talk about work?"

"Our lives revolve around it."

"For once, we are going to do something normal, I swear. I'm going to talk to Scotty about going to that football game."

"You may sleep in my quarters, if you do not desire to move."

"Are you coming back?"

"I will return."

"Good. Have fun, tell me about how Sulu's getting on with his mission."

"Of course."

"Fuck. More work related talk. Can't win," he yawned.

I touched my fingers to his temple. Jim smiled sleepily, then directed a mental kiss to me.

_Come back whenever._

I nodded, then exited my quarters and locked the bulkheads.


	174. Ch 174

The mission selected by Lt. Sulu will take place on the planet Shasugami, where the Federation officials have recently discovered a major animal trafficking center. They require assistance shutting the center down and putting the thousands of displaced and maltreated creatures into proper transport. The _Enterprise_ will be taking the animals to the Napomazonin wildlife reserve, where they might receive care, medical attention, and possible rehabilitation.

"Lt. Sulu, Lt. Chekov."

"Commander. I was just going over the maps and the investigation reports."

Sulu and Pavel were in a conference room, the projector showing several high resolution maps of the planet, the desks stacked high with datapads. Pavel seemed to be working on his own project, but the various marks and scribbles on the screen of his writing indicated that he was partially helping Sulu with his mission.

"This mission's almost like that Anyuta-k, except instead of moving people we're dealing with animals of all stripes. I'm thinking of modeling the organization of this mission off of that one. But some of these reports really worry me."

"If you would elaborate."

"A lot of the transmission say that these animals're highly traumatized, won't even let people near them. They're scared—they've been collected from all corners of the galaxy—and some of them have really bad injuries, but none of our medical staff have degrees in veterinary medicine."

"I believe there are a few veterinarians currently working with officials on Shasugami. They will be able to accompany us and lend their expertise."

"It's not enough. What we really need is to start training the security people how to manage animals, how to approach them, how to handle them without harming them even more."

"What is the range of the sizes of these creatures? Did they send the inventory we requested?"

"They sent an inventory, all right. Kind of overwhelming, the number of species they've got. I'll forward it to your datapad. As for size, we're talking about getting as big as an orca, a killer whale."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, they've even got whales. It's ridiculous."

"Then this matter of storage space—" my mind spun with the implications of that information.

"I haf just calculated the free space we are hafing on the _Enterprise_, and if your projected estimates are correct, Hikaru, is a wery wery tight fit."

"Tell me something I didn't know," Sulu mumbled. He straightened. "How tight?"

"We can use the shuttle bay area, places in the Engineering Deck—Scotty will not be wery happy—the Observation Deck, _i tak dalye_. But another question I am thinking—how are we organizing the animals? Some are being predators, others are not. We do not want slaughterhouse on the _Enterprise_."

"It is unlikely that all the animals will simultaneously attack one another, lieutenant. They are injured, not rabid. They will not attack if unprovoked."

"I don't know about the 'not rabid' part yet. The vet reports are trickling in. Also, these animals don't need much to feel provoked, the way they've been treated so far. A slaughterhouse is a definite possibility."

"I am betting they never had this problem in Noah's ark."

Sulu gave Pavel a look.

"It's not funny the fifteenth time you say it."

"The Commander has not heard it before—maybe he is finding it funny. We haf subtitled this mission: Kirk's Ark. But it is not the keptan who is doing it, so I am calling it Sulu's Ark."

"Har har. You still haven't given me any conclusive answers about transporter range."

"We can be making multiple trips."

"You told me the fastest route to Napomazonin was 170 hours one way, going Warp 4. That's a long time."

"Not if Scotty can be doing his transwarp beaming."

"The orca specimen will certainly be too large for the transporter room—the tank would likely exceed the dimensions of the pad. A shuttle roster will be necessary."

"Do you really think it's a good idea to beam sick animals transwarp? Transwarp freaks _people_ out, and we know what's going on. Animals might die of fright."

"It is possible to transport them as Lt. Chekov suggested. Some of the species on this list would survive the trip. Nevertheless, I believe manual transport is the best solution."

"So, better not chance it, not unless a vet approves it for transwarp. Gotcha."

"Then you will be needing antigrav holders."

"Lots of antigrav holders. I thought that we should put most of these animals into cages—we might have to build those, and research safety standards—and carry or transport the cages on and off the _Enterprise_."

"Maybe some crewmembers can be keeping them in their quarters? It is possible we will haf insufficient room."

"None are domesticated breeds so as far as I'm concerned, no one has permission to keep them in their quarters. They might unknowingly mistreat them, anyway. Which reminds me, a few of the staff've gotten sick and caught diseases from the animals."

"I did not see this in the briefs they provided."

"The chief of operations just told me on the last transmission we had."

"It is was a wery pleasant surprise. You should haf seen the look on his face, Commander."

"Shut up, Pasha. One of the guys almost died, and they had no idea what was going on. That facility's become a breeding ground for all sorts of disease. The recent holograms they've provided look absolutely horrendous."

"Dr. McCoy will be pleased to learn of this development."

"Yeah, about that," Sulu shuffled the datapads. "Could you talk to him about decontam procedures?"

"Hikaru is afraid of the wrath of the doctor. The last time he is going to Sickbay, the doctor jabbed him with three hypos."

"He thought I was Jim."

"It was hilarious."

"I doubt that the Dr. McCoy mistook you for the captain. Your physical appearances are quite distinct."

"Maybe it was the gold shirt? I don't know."

"He should sooner mistake Lt. Chekov for the captain. I was not aware that you had developed a fear of the doctor, Sulu."

"He's a scary man when he's wielding a hypo," Sulu smiled. "No, Pasha's just messing around."

"The hypo story is true. _Chestnoye slova_."

"If you don't want to talk to Doc McCoy, I can do it. I was just thinking of talking to the engineers about setting up building teams, figuring out the designs and materials we'll need while you took care of that."

"I will speak to him. If you could provide copies of the holograms?"

"Sure—why?"

"Visual analysis might provide some additional information."

"The resolution on it's not very good. I don't know how much you could get from it. Everything's a mess."

"Undestood."

"Oh damn. I just realized, people on board probably have allergies."

"The keptan," Chekov nodded.

"Among others," I replied. "Everyone will have to report to Sickbay to receive general vaccinations, allergy shots, boosters to their current medication. And, as you mentioned, we will have to reconsider decontamination procedures for both crewmembers and animals."

"You can be the liaison with the Medical Department. How's that sound?"

"Adequate. Are there any other considerations we have not accounted for?"

"I'm sure we'll think of some."

"Of course. However, for the time being, the list of necessary preparations is as follows: training for those who will assist in handling the animals, building and/or obtaining proper holding receptacles, making space on board the ship for all specimens and considering a method by which to organize the cages, immunization and decontamination procedures for the crew, locating sources for veterinary aid, considering shuttle rosters, considering schedules of transport."

Sulu blinked.

"That's a huge list, when you put it that way."

"We also must consider the proper care for these animals, their diet and specific needs. It is impossible to tend to each individually—that is the care they will have to wait to receive on Napomazonin. However, the very basics must be attended to."

"That's why I was thinking about the organization we used for Anyuta-k, the bushfire mission. I definitely think this is something that needs to be done in teams."

He began diagramming his plan on the screen.

"I'm thinking of dividing the teams into handlers, carriers, people who can classify and organize the animals, more specialized caretakers and quasi-veterinary staff, shuttle crew, and people in between who can oversee the chaos of it all. I'll pull staff from all departments, and send out a general message besides, asking if anyone's got the knowledge or skills."

Sulu frowned at his diagram.

"And I'll need engineers to start researching and building these holding cages. We don't have time—I don't think, there's too much volume—to make cages tailored for each species, but generic types, maybe with a couple modifications, should be good. It's the best solution."

"I can find no reason to object to your proposal. Will you be conducting the animal handling seminars?"

"Yeah, I'll take care of that myself. And everyone has to attend."

I raised an eyebrow.

Sulu shrugged.

"My sister Sayomi had a snake when we were kids. It was a present—a blind snake for a blind girl. I hated the thing and she knew it. She'd sneak it in my shoes, in my bed, stuff like that."

Pavel nodded as though he'd already heard this story.

"I finally got mad at her when she wrapped it around my foil. I was so mad, I stuck that thing in the microwave and fried it. It was kind of cool, watching it squirm around and explode.

"Anyway. Mom gave me and Sayomi the lecture of our lives, talking about respecting animals and how they're not our toys to mess around with. It kind of stuck."

He shrugged again.

"I don't want people to take this mission as a joke, or have them mess with these animals. It's not acceptable for any one to die because I didn't make things clear. They've gone through enough negligence and trauma down there. I mean, they were basically stripped from their habitats, brutalized. Everyone's got to understand that."

I nodded.

"Your intent has been made clear."

"Cool. The cages—Scotty's doing his own departmental stuff, so it might be hard to steal some engineers. But I'll negotiate that with him. The security guys, they're on board. Pilots, I think I've got covered. The only thing I'm worried about is space."

"I suggest that you speak to the yeomen. They can assist you in creating and organizing space."

"I am thinking," Pavel tilted his head. "It might be a good idea to be talking to Communications Department too. They are trained to talking to other species, _da_? Some of them might be animal lowers. They can help."

"I think most of communications is busy with Nyota's mission. Must be intense stuff—today, it was all comm people at the databases, researching stuff about the history of confederations. I almost couldn't find a free terminal. But better her than me, for that mission. How's it been going?"

"I believe it will be concluded with satisfactory results. I myself have not been keeping up to date with all the details of her mission. The captain is more familiar with the proceedings."

"Diplomacy," Sulu made a face.

"I suggest that you prepare yourself for taking on a diplomatic mission sometime in the future, lieutenant. The captain and I have noted that you and Nyota took missions that you feel are familiar. At some point, you will have to expand your command skills to successfully manage all the duties required of a captain."

"One thing at a time, please," Sulu grimaced. "I've got enough on my plate right now as it is."

"Of course. Will you be holding a general meeting to brief all those involved in this mission?"

"No, I hadn't planned on it. Should I?"

"In order to make clear the objective of the mission and provide an overview of the procedures, I believe it would be useful to hold a general meeting. If you prefer, it could take place as we near the planet Shasugami, when everyone knows their duties and the preliminary difficulties are sorted out."

"That sounds good. It makes sense to do that. Add that to the list of things I have to do," Sulu looked at his datapad, a dubious expression on his face. "All right, I think that about covers it. Anything else that I missed, Commander?"

"Negative. Everything has been accounted for."

"Great. Okay. I'll clean up my mess here and get started with Scotty first, see what we can do about those cages."

--

"Veterinary degree? Not that I know of. Chris, have we got any vets on board?"

"I don't think anyone's been through veterinary school here. I know Nurse Mazuro was trained in the Deltan system, which has a more multidisciplinary approach and included some basics in veterinary care. His specialization was healing patients who've experienced severe sexual trauma, though."

"And we've definitely got nurses that specialized in various flavors of xenomedicine, but xenovets. Why'd you ask?"

I briefed Leonard and Christine on our upcoming mission and watched as Leonard's eyebrows went higher and higher.

"This is a situation just _asking_ for disaster, and I'm not just talking about the animal side of it. If you mishandle one of those creatures, they might come out scratching with all claws, a high risk of infection and God knows what else to boot."

"Here's the file," Christine manipulated her datapad. "There's also a few cases of severe illness among the crew on Shasugami."

"Goddamnit, y'all tell this to me _now_?! Any fatalities?"

"None."

"Not that I can see."

"That look on Spock's face says someone almost died."

"I have forwarded the appropriate files to your terminal."

Leonard snorted.

"You'd think they'd give us more urgent and comparatively safer things to do, like guarding some damn neutral zone," he grumbled.

"What do you mean?"

"I fail to understand your definition of urgency."

"Ferrying animals like this is Noah's Ark? I'm not sure I'd call that a top priority mission, if I were an admiral."

"I see."

"I know that tone of voice. Let's hear your infernal logic."

"Logic has little do with this situation, only facts. We have been assigned this mission because wildlife trafficking is the fourth most lucrative illegal trade in Federation, following only human and drug trafficking and the sale of weapons."

"I'd call that quite a compelling reason. It's a good thing you're not an admiral, Len."

"It's a good thing I'm not a lot of things, Chris. But you said fourth most lucrative? How big of a demand are we talking here?"

"Among the founding members of the Federation planets, in excess of 200 billion credits annually. That is a conservative estimate."

"That big?" Christine's eyes widened.

"It is believed the number is higher among certain member planets. In some cultures, it is common practice to take animals from the wild and incorporate them into households. Several species seized from the processing center are remarkably intelligent and considered to be ideal companions for both children and adults—"

"You mean pets. Speak Standard for once, convoluted Vulcan."

"What kind of animals? You mean people take chimpanzees or something of that sort and domesticate them?"

"Actually, parrots are popular on Earth—clever as cats. Smartest animals I've every met, but noisy as hell. Those big colorful ones? Damn, I've never heard anything screech so loud. But I know most of those're bred in captivity."

I raised an eyebrow.

"You grow up with a clan as big as the McCoys, you're bound to have an eccentric aunt in the mix. I swear, the lady had fifty birds in her house. She never talked about illegal parrot trading, though."

"Well I suppose that not every animal is going to be raised in captivity. I don't imagine they'd have a system to keep track of which ones're from the wild and which ones aren't."

"That is part of the problem," I nodded. "There is no real system in place by which to trace the origin of these animals or ensure that they have been properly treated."

"Works the same way as regular trafficking, then."

"The principles of the black market hold no matter the product, doctor."

"Then everything gets worse because the people buying don't know—or don't care, I suppose—where these poor creatures are coming from."

"Affirmative."

"Aint it grand? Guess that's why Orions make a living being the middle men."

"They make half their living off you. You don't even know how to drive a decent bargain."

"Have _you_ ever actually bought anything from them, Chris?"

"You have, doctor?"

"Where'd you think half my alcohol comes from?"

"I see."

Christine was smiling.

"Now, Spock, everyone's got their weaknesses. Let me have mine without your eyebrows judging me."

"I passed no judgment on you."

"Goddamn Orions inflate their prices like no one else—it's not as though I get a bargain from those Syndicate salesmen. Price of a clean conscience, if you want to see it that way."

"Price of not knowing how to manage an Orion trader."

"All right, then Chris. Next time, you do all the talking. I'll just give you my order and you can fill it out."

"I'll have to charge you a premium for that."

"I can never win," Leonard threw up his hands.

"No you can't. But, the animal trafficking—there must be other sources of demand. I can't imagine 200 billion credits on smuggling parrots alone."

"There are. For example, animals caught in the wild are also widely consumed for food, as some believe that the distinct flavor is superior to specimens bred in captivity. "

"I remember that! You remember, six years ago, that craze everyone got for raw mrakfawdor meat?"

"It was considered to be a delicacy."

"Delicacy my ass. Only thing it made delicate was your small intenstine. See if you're smiling while the enzymes seep out and shrivel your organs up like dried prunes."

"I remember that too. There was news all over the nets, talking about how the demand increased so rapidly that entire genetic lines were wiped out."

"Really? Well it was one of the stupidest things I've ever seen people do to themselves, let alone the mrakfawdors. Goddamn, I had more cases of food poisoning from that idiot fad than anything else. Even treated some Denobulan in the ER—he almost died eating that stuff."

"Well, Denobulans are allergic—"

"Obviously this guy didn't know."

"It might've been a dare. Oh, and I remember there was that other case with the trawfawdors—"

"What're those again?"

"They are related to mrakfawdors, sharing the same genus."

"They those toothy blue-feathered things?"

"An imprecise description, but they are characterized by their large front incisors and turquoise feathers. The case to which Christine is referring was related to the fact that among some Federation member planets, trawfawdors teeth are highly prized and widely consumed."

"Why the hell'd they do that?"

"They think it has medicinal qualities. Other cultures do the same thing. When we were moving around bases, everyone had their own strangest home remedies. Once, I came down with pneumonia and the lady next door told my mother to rub my feet with ox eyeballs."

Leonard stared.

"Ox eyeballs."

"That is one such example, albeit highly unusual. Animals parts are often sought after, such as the horn, eggs, skin, bone, and so forth for similar reasons."

"Trawfawdor teeth don't have anything but a lot of calcium, but some other parts might have something useful. Ox eyeballs," Leonard grimaced. "I don't have anything to say to that."

"Most are baseless superstitions."

"Most are," Christine agreed, "but we've discovered some very good medicines following up on wives tales."

"However, others cultures value these parts because they are necessary in religious ceremonies, for artistic purposes, decoration, jewelry, clothing—the list of possibilities, and the demand, is interminable."

"Now hold on a minute. If it's part of their religion or they've some kind of major cultural practice, I don't see how you can say that's wrong. Everyone's got their cultures and ways of practicing their beliefs. God help me, I might disagree with some of them—that cannibal planet—"

"Potiguara," Christine answered.

"That's the one—and I'll never understand it, but that's how it is. And eating wild meat? Hell, humans wouldn't be here if we didn't get started there."

"Your statements are true. I did not claim that cultures have no right to their rituals or their customary diet, but it is a different matter if those practices drive a species to extinction. Reckless consumption of wildlife, the destruction of natural habitats for the convenience of humanoids, is environmentally damaging and ethically unsound."

"Won't disagree with you there," Leonard nodded. "All right. I don't know how much we can about finding veterinarians. We could try, between here and that planet, learning the basics, training up the staff. But depending on the shape that these animals are in, I don't know how much help we can be. We'll do our best here."

"I will work with you both to develop the necessary decontamination procedures and methods by which serious injury can be prevented."

"We can get started synthesizing immunizations, that should be easy to finish," Christine began looking through her datapad once more. "In any case, most of the crew's due for boosters on their vaccines."

"Especially Jim—don't let him go without having him visit Sickbay first."

"Understood."

"He looks happy, by the way. And so do you. Y'all're taking care of each other."

I made no reply, only raised an eyebrow.

"Don't give me that look," he laughed. "Lucky green blooded logician."

"Why, thank you doctor."

"Knew you'd say that."


	175. Ch 175

"Jim."

"Five more minutes."

"Lt. Shaw waiting on the channel to speak with you."

"Three more minutes."

"Jim," I kissed him.

"Your room's warm, you know that? Like you."

He cracked open his eyes. I took his hand in mine and for a moment, simply sat and watched as Jim woke.

"I think I could get used to this," he said, voice quiet.

"It is one of the topics for which we postponed discussion."

"I'm not in a hurry."

A pause.

"Lt. Shaw is on the line."

"She can wait."

"Jim."

"What? Three more minutes. Three minutes isn't going to kill her."

"You are unusually tired."

"Actually, that was one of the best sleeps I've had in my life. I think it was the massage. And no dreams."

"I was not aware that dreams still troubled you."

"It's not a big deal."

Another pause.

"Dr. McCoy reminded me that you are due for your vaccine boosters."

"Yeah, I'll get them. How was your meeting with Sulu? Everything go okay?"

"Affirmative. They have subtitled the mission as Kirk's Ark, referencing the story of Noah and the flood that appears in many ancient Terran texts."

"You guys are turning my ship into an ark?"

"It seems so."

"That's hilarious. And a little weird. Did I tell you about the two monsters that tried to eat me on Delta Vega?"

"Negative. You were attacked?"

"I think a better word is hunted. Stalked or something. The thing wouldn't stop chasing me."

I kissed him.

"Is that 'I'm sorry'?" Jim laughed.

I gave a half shrug, then kissed him again. He responded.

When I broke the kiss, Jim protested.

"Three minutes, captain."

"All right, all right. I'm up. Going to talk to Shaw. Be captain and all. I thought giving the missions to Nyota and Sulu would give us some more free time."

"You did not anticipate the degree to which they would utilize us in these missions," I said, sitting down to prepare for Lt. Sulu's Ark mission.

"Think it's some form of payback?"

"Unlikely. They are simply learning how to delegate the necessary tasks effectively and relying on us for counsel."

"Didn't know teaching could be so tiring. Mind if I take the transmission here?"

"I have no objections."

"Great. Bridge, put the transmission from Lt. Shaw on Commander Spock's terminal."

"Aye, sir."

"Captain—I've got Lt. Uhura on the other line. Some issues came up, can we make this a conference call?"

"Nope. What's the problem, Uhura?"

"The problem is that two of the planets are willing to create a confederation with each other, but not with Dagazocito or Traturjose. It would essentially be a permanent alliance with economic benefits, but there'd be no guarantees when it comes to war with the other two planets. McBride and Borisov tell me that this development isn't entirely surprising, given the history and the cultural affinity they have with each other."

"In all honesty, if nothing works out, a confederation of two planets is better than none."

"Why do you say that, Areel?" I could hear the frown in Nyota's voice. "I think it could go either way, and has a potential establishing a dominant entity permanently in the region."

"It would be ideal if you could come away with a power sharing arrangement that includes all four planets, but in all honesty, having one power dominant in the system is a very good way of ensuring stability. It's in their best interest to keep order in the system, since war destabilizes the area, puts strain on their resources, and threatens the power structure. A confederation between two planets wouldn't eliminate war, but the scale wouldn't be as severe and there would probably be fewer casualties."

"Unless that confederation decides they'll do whatever the fuck they want and repress everyone. Then we're going to get serious blood on our hands," Jim said.

"But right now, if we had this two planet confederation, would it be in their best interest to attempt to create a repressive system against the other planets? Inherently, the structure of a confederation is loose with minimal centralization. In order to establish that kind of system, there has to be a very strong central government."

"Lt. Shaw, you're forgetting that these guys just waged a huge war based on the idea that their planet and people are superior. I think they would think it's in their best interests, given the rampant planetism we saw."

"The fact that at least two are willing to consider a new arrangement shows that the planetism isn't as severe as we thought it was."

"Areel, the captain and I were held hostage in a pyramid. They wanted us to validate their claims so much they decided to lock us into a dirt chamber. If that's not a people grasping at straws, I don't know what is."

"Let's put that topic on hold and think of the economic dimension to all of this. How is interplanetary trade?"

"Virtually nonexistent," Jim answered.

"That's only the official line," Nyota replied. "The teams have found that there's lots of cases of trade relations in the past. During the war, everyone put embargos on everyone else, but even then smuggling was rampant. Unofficial trade has started up again, though none of the governments are willing to admit it."

"Your point about repression is definitely a concern, captain. You were thinking along governmental lines, but if interplanetary trade is starting up again, a confederation of two planets has the potential to define the economic development of the other two."

"Areel, we keep talking about this two planet confederation, but I still want to aim for one that includes all four."

"Do you think that's likely to happen, Nyota?" Lt. Shaw asked. "It might be better to cut your losses and accept this situation. I've already been talking to some Mediators on this end, and they would be willing to go and oversee the entire situation. If there's Federation oversight into the process, then we might minimize the risk of any of these problems developing."

"You're putting a lot of stock in these Mediators. They weren't able to stop the war or negotiate a ceasefire."

"Captain, it's hard to stop a fight when the guns are already out and shooting. Now that the dust has settled and everyone's got their weapons holstered, we should have better luck. Ceasefires are notoriously hard to negotiate. Everyone would've been very surprised if the Mediators came away with an actual agreement."

"Then why did the Federation send them in the first place?" Jim asked.

"It was a symbolic gesture, in a lot of ways. They wanted to make very clear that they don't endorse this war in any way. And you never know—someone might have been successful."

"If we encourage the two planet confederation, could it be interpreted as the Federation throwing its support behind these two planets?" Nyota asked.

"Yes. If this goes through and the Federation gives the treaty its proverbial blessing, then we definitely are supporting one side. What you have to make clear, though, is that the support has all to do with politics and nothing to do with planetism. The language you use has to be unambiguous on that front. But it's your decision, whether you want to push this or try for the complete set. Either way, I have arrangements with Mediators, and the Federation will endorse the treaty."

There was momentary silence. I could almost hear Nyota and Jim thinking, recalculating all their strategies.

"Thanks. Captain, do you have anything else to ask?"

"Is there a way of adding a proviso or something that allows the other planets a chance to join the confederation, if they want?"

"Of course, but it'll ultimately depend on the other two planets. They'll set the terms and qualifications—almost like trying to get membership into an elite club. You and Nyota will have to make sure that the language isn't charged with blatant planetism and open to interpretation."

"You want us to make it deliberately vague."

"No. I want you to make deliberate backdoors, if they try too hard to make it exclusive."

Jim grinned.

"Oh, one last thing, Areel?" Nyota said.

"Yes?"

"This pyramid business."

"The thing that started it all," Areel sounded amused.

"Yes. Any suggestions? My archeological team came back with results—they've held off on publishing it so far. It's conclusive. There is no way that Dagazocito is the cradle of humanoid civilization."

"Not that there ever was any doubt," Jim rolled his eyes.

"That data—it really depends on what you want to try for. If you're going to do the two planet confederation, then I would say to tell your scientists to release the data. As the confederation is between the other planets, it might actually help you in your negotiations—you can use it. Just walk a fine line there. Otherwise, release the results after the talks are done. I would suggest holding a press conference on Dagazocito telling the results first, instead of cutting and running."

"Interesting. Thanks, I'll think about that."

"That's what I'm here for," Areel smiled. "Anything else?"

"Not on my end," Jim shook his head.

"I'll send you a transmission if anything comes up."

"All right. Then Lt. Shaw out. Good luck, Nyota."

"Captain, I'd like to hold a collaborative meeting before we head back into the talks."

"All right. What time?"

"In two hours. I hope the meeting will last one hour, tops, and then we'll dive back into negotiations."

"Got it."

"I'm on the bridge if anything comes up. Uhura out."

Jim stared at the terminal, then got up and stretched sinuously. He looked at me.

"Why does diplomacy have to be so involved?"

"It becomes more involved when there are more than two factions participating. In this case, between five distinct parties representing their distinct positions, negotiations are that much more complex."

"And they wanted me to run for FedCouncil. No fucking way. Don't even talk to me about drafting legislation. Politicians are another _breed_."

"I would not be opposed to seeing you in a position of high power."

Jim laughed and came to where I was.

"Think I could rule an empire? That might be awesome, everyone calling me 'Emperor Kirk' or something like that."

"Actually, I believe you are better suited to conquering an empire."

"Winning glory, all that shit? As long as you're with me," he replied, straddling me. "I've got two hours."

"You have not had a meal in fourteen hours."

"It doesn't take me two hours to have breakfast, Spock," he took the datapad out of my hand and put it on the desk.

"Our interactions of late seem to consist of one of two activities," I said as Jim pulled my shirt off.

"And what're those?" he unbuttoned my trousers.

"Command duties or sexual intercourse."

"Can't get enough of you," he said into my skin, biting down. "You're like a drug or something. A hot," he licked "sweet" he sucked "_fucking_" I inhaled "drug. Any objections?" his hand trailed down my body.

"None."

"Good."


	176. Ch 176

"Spock!"

"Mr. Scott."

"Have you seen Sulu anywhere? The lad's gone and kidnapped some of my engineers."

"He is utilizing your staff without your knowledge?"

"No, it's fine, I told him he can use whoever he finds lying around. But I need Keenser. We've got a minor little mixup down there, and I can't for the life of me figure out what in the world is malfunctioning."

"I am uncertain as to the current location of Lt. Sulu. However, I will notify Engineer Keenser if I see him."

"Thanks very much. And tell the guy to get a move on it. I don't want this thing blowing out of proportion, not with this animal mission coming up."

"I will communicate the urgency of the situation."

"Great. I'm off for a quick bite to eat—is Nyota's mission coming along?"

"It is. Have you not discussed it with her?"

"She's usually tired or researching. I thought it best not to talk about work. Better take her mind off things," Scotty grinned. "It's no good, living and breathing missions like that."

"You 'live and breathe' your engineering duties."

"Aye, but I love it."

"Likewise, Nyota enjoys diplomatic negotiations."

"Oh, there's no doubt about that. My point is, we usually don't talk about work. It may come up on occasion, but a person has to take break from all the engineering or diplomatic parlance we babble ninety percent of the time."

"That is understandable," I nodded.

"And I've already got a list of football matches lined up. It'll be great," Scotty paused at the door to the mess hall. "Remember—Keenser."

He grinned, then disappeared into the busy cafeteria.

It was not difficult to find Lt. Sulu. All one had to do was follow the trail of supplies and personnel going in and out of the shuttlebay. When I entered, I was greeted by the sight of ensigns, yeomen, scientists, engineers, and security officers bent over various materials. The sounds of soldering, hammering, cutting and sawing echoed through the large space of the hangar. To the side, Lt. Sulu was standing with a small team of engineers and scientists who were examining what looked like designs for cages. Among them, Keenser was pointing vigorously and shaking his head, rapidly drawing over the plans.

The lieutenant seemed in his element, despite his relative lack of expertise. While Nyota's domain is filled with discussion and panels of experts weighing options and opinions, Sulu is surrounded by action, by physical materials and construction projects. At first glance, little seemed to be systematically organized, but it became apparent that rather than utilize an assembly line, there were teams assigned to create and master a specific design. Materials specialists were called on to lend their help when necessary, but for the most part everything was being improvised. From what I could see, there were makeshift incubators, glass tanks, kennels, plastic tubs, wire-mesh cages. One team seemed to be in the process of building an aviary, complete with some plant samples from the ship's small arboretum.

I walked to where Lt. Sulu was standing.

"Hi Commander. We were just looking over the plans for building the orca tank."

"Keenser disagrees with the current design—he says there's no way to incorporate the right temperature modification panels if we build it this way," Engineer Bom said. "Either that or the distribution of temperatures would have a huge range, but the orca needs really cold salt water if we want it to have any chance of surviving this trip. What do you say?"

"But there are bigger problems than that," Dr. Necope, a zoologist, interjected. "We have to consider the supply of oxygen for this whale. This tank has to be a closed system—there's no other way of building it, but we must find a way to keep a steady flow of air to its blow hole."

"Perhaps a more effective solution would be to sedate the orca," I suggested. "Its frequencies would require constant monitoring, but that might minimize any further trauma the creature could experience in transport."

"Does Doc McCoy know how to sedate a killer whale?" Sulu asked.

"I assume there is literature on the matter. I will discuss it with him, however."

"Lt. Sulu?" Yeoman Galveston approached. "We're low on anti-grav holders."

"There should be some in the storage room on E Deck."

"I checked there—nothing. We're using them all right now."

"All right. I'll see what I can do about getting some more. There anything else you need?"

"I don't really know."

"Go around the teams and compile a list of materials they need. Forward it to me when you're done."

"Aye, sir."

"We can get most of our stuff from the replicators," Engineer Bom said. "But Keenser's drawn up a list of supplies that would be useful."

Sulu took the datapad and began to scan through the list, forehead creased.

"Back to this design," Dr. Hussein pointed. "One thing that we haven't considered—which we should have from the beginning—some of these animals need special atmospheres. The last check I did on the inventory showed species that need high argon atmospheres, or near absolute zero conditions."

"According to the report, several animals have died at the processing center because they lacked the correct environments. The typical humanoid range is unsuitable for them," Dr. Necope added.

"The chemists on board should be able to provide an adequate solution. Furthermore, Engineer Keenser?"

Keenser folded his arms.

"Engineer Scott asked me to relay to you that he is in need of your assistance."

Keenser gave what seemed to be an exasperated and knowing look.

"There is a malfunction for which he does not know the solution."

The engineer considered my words, then dismissed them. It was strange to see him do so. Apparently, Keenser believed Scotty's request to be unimportant. He returned his attention to the diagrams, scribbling once more. I looked at Sulu, who shrugged.

"Anyway, guys, I think you've got this under control here. I'm going to be around the ship if you need me—just send out a general comm. Commander, I've got some questions."

We walked out of the shuttlebay.

"I just got a transmission from Napomazonin—anonymous, but Lt. Solange was able to trace it back to the reserve's facilities—warning that there're poachers on the planet."

"Did they provide any evidence of this claim?"

"No. All it said was that there was someone providing access to different parts of the planet that was strictly off limits, letting people poach the animals there."

"Were there any names, any details that might provide a starting point from which we may begin our investigations?"

"No. I don't really know what to make of it. I mean, it makes sense that there'd be poaching. Napomazonin Reserve's got hundreds of thousands of endangered species and they probably sell for ridiculously high prices. They've had problems with poaching before."

"Have you and Lt. Solange analyzed the communication for any other encrypted messages, files?"

"Yup. There was nothing."

"If you would follow me to the SysLab."

After running the transmission through several tests and comparing it against every encryption I knew, we finally discovered two images. One was a satellite photograph that showed traces of a camp—ostensibly that of the poachers—and another was the image of an individual.

"Oh shit."

An apt expression.

"The Taxidermist. I thought we put him away!"

"Evidently not, if the information in this transmission is to be trusted."

"And that's supposed to be his site. Do you think he's wife's with him?"

"We will have to analyze this image to determine the number of individuals involved in this operation. If this information can be trusted."

"I don't see any reason why they'd lie about something like this. Someone's scared to talk. It's an anonymous tip."

"There are ways by which we may verify certain facts. I will speak to Number One to locate the files of the Taxidermist's incarceration."

"I can't believe he walked free."

"It is possible he escaped, or invoked his status as an Orion."

"But—all those bodies! You _saw_. You know what he did, that machine!"

"There are several reasons why he may have been able to receive a reduced sentence—"

"Or no sentence at all."

"Due to the nature of his trade, it is possible he had information that could convict other, more dangerous and valuable criminals."

"Plea bargain. Oh shoot."

"It is useless to speculate on the details. I will obtain the information as soon as possible and this matter will be clarified."

"We'll be ready this time."

"We may not. It is likely that all his tools were confiscated by the Federation, even if he was allowed to walk free."

"Then he'll have fewer weapons at his disposal."

"We cannot be certain of this. We know nothing of his resources. He may have had one or several credit accounts to allow him to recover from the loss; he may have borrowed instruments from others. As I stated before, it is useless to speculate when we have no definite information."

"Am I still in charge of this mission?"

"I am uncertain as to why you believe your command of this mission has been revoked."

"I thought maybe the captain'd like to handle this."

"I will inform the captain of this recent development, but I doubt that he will take command."

"All right," Sulu rubbed his forehead. "We'll just take this as it comes. When do you think you'll be able to contact Number One?"

"I plan on doing so after the computer finishes this last analysis. As you are the acting captain for this mission, your presence is required."

"Right. How long is your test going to take? I'd like to talk to Giotto about this too."

"It is already finished."

--

"I have looked into your request for information concerning the individual nicknamed the 'Taxidermist.' He and his wife were held in Federation custody after the _Enterprise_ discovered their facilities. The female is currently being held in a penal colony."

"And the Taxidermist?"

"He was able to cut a deal with the prosecution for a reduced sentence. He was on parole when the system lost track of him and he fell off the map."

Sulu stiffened.

"So it's a possibility that this information is true."

"The probability that the anonymous tip is valid has increased," Number One nodded.

"What is the probability that the Taxidermist will be able to cut another deal with the prosecution should he be apprehended by the _Enterprise_ a second time?"

"I am uncertain. It depends on the information he is able to provide, if he is able to give any at all."

"Then he did not use his citizenship as an Orion to obtain his reduced sentence."

"The Taxidermist is, in fact, a dual citizen, Commander. As I understand, the prosecution learned this when he attempted to claim his rights as an Orion and avoid conviction in the Federation. He is accountable to both the Federation and the Orions. That status should have been updated in his files."

"It was not."

"Then the error will be rectified immediately."

"What kind of information did he tell in the first place? And why was his wife put away? I mean, shouldn't she know the same stuff that he does, if they were a partnership?"

"The partnership was such that the husband had all the trade contacts while his wife prepared all the specimens. She had little information of value to offer to the prosecution, while the husband had several tips that were useful in the Federation's current investigations in the sex trafficking trade."

"Was there no evidence that he and his wife participated in that trade as well?"

"Undoubtedly they did, but there was no evidence. Their specialization was, as you know, taxidermy."

"And now he's move on to poaching."

"It is likely that he is familiar with the practice. Do you recall the inventory of the Taxidermist, Commander?"

"Perfectly."

"There were several animal specimens in their collection."

"Affirmative."

"The guy's not a very good criminal, if he's revisiting old haunts. You never go back to familiar places if you want to drop off the map."

"Evidently he has an ally on the inside, if he is able to access the Napomazonin Reserve at all," Number One frowned. "The security of the planet was recently updated. It should be difficult to breach without assistance from within."

"If we are indeed dealing with the Taxidermist, and if he has a contact inside the Reserve facilities, then it is likely that the individual is receiving some form of compensation, likely credits."

"A cut of the profits?"

"Perhaps."

"Can we get access to their accounts, Admiral?" Sulu asked.

"I will see what can be done. However, that suggestion precludes the possibility that the credits were deposited to the primary account. The individual—or individuals—might have opened another account."

"Or the transaction did not take place through credits at all," I added.

"I don't see what else he'd use to pay them off."

"Precious materials, access to certain markets, contacts, information—credits are not the only object of value, lieutenant."

"Or he might not have anything at all. It's only been a few months since he dropped off the map. If he's poaching, and poaching where he might get caught, he must be desperate."

"Excellent analysis, Lt. Sulu," Number One tilted her head as though she was recalibrating her opinion of the helmsman.

"Thanks. But those credit accounts could be useful—we might get lucky and these criminals might be dumb. Civilians dabbling in crime usually are. So could you provide access to the account information, and we'll look into a couple of other avenues of investigation?"

"Certainly. What other avenues were you considering?"

"Analysis of the image, looking into the background of the Taxidermist a little more. He's bound to have left a digital trail. We've got the advantage, since he probably hasn't had time to cover his tracks that well."

"He covered them well enough to make it extremely difficult for us to locate him."

"Usually it's easier to follow a trail backwards to the source, than starting from a point and figuring out where to go next."

Number One raised her eyebrows.

"The captain taught you all of this?"

"Some of it I picked up from the captain, some from Spock. Some from my friend Lt. Chekov, actually. And a lot from watching crime serials and reading spy thrillers. Most of them don't get it right, but they've got good ideas and some basis in reality."

"Fascinating," she remarked.

Sulu looked between myself and Number One.

"Do you have any other queries, Lt. Sulu, Commander Spock?"

"None."

"I think I'm good for now."

"Then I will forward you the information as soon as possible. Number One out."

The screen went blank. Sulu turned to me, a look of curiosity on his face.

"You served together with Pike, right?"

"Affirmative."

"Did she pick that up from you, or did you pick it up from her?"

"I am uncertain as to your meaning."

"Your catchphrase—'fascinating'."

"Lt. Sulu, I do not hold a monopoly on that word."

"I've never heard anyone else say it like you do. Until now, that is. Is she your long lost sister or something?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"That would be hilarious. If she were your half-sister, that would make Doc McCoy her quarter-brother."

"It is unclear to me why everyone on this ship is interested in establishing a genealogical relationship between myself and Leonard McCoy."

"Because you were obviously separated at birth."

"Indeed. We were separated by lightyears of space and a considerable period of time at birth."

"No, I mean like the twins in _Le Vicomte de Bragelonne_," Sulu grinned. "One of you is the Sun King, the other's the Man in the Iron Mask."

"I will not ask who is whom."

"You're definitely the Man in the Iron Mask."


	177. Ch 177

"Spock? Where are you?"

"On the bridge, captain."

"Get down to Sickbay."

"Are you injured?"

"No. It's Nyota. Just," Jim drew in breath, "get down here. Kirk out."

--

"This must be what raising kids is like."

Jim was standing by Nyota's biobed in Sickbay.

"No need to be so dramatic, captain. And I have it on good authority that it's not. Raising children is much harder."

"Spock," he took my hand in his.

"What is her condition, nurse?"

"Nyota will be fine. The arrow missed her major organs. She'll be right as rain no time."

"When'll she wake up, Chris?"

"Oh, a few hours. Do you need her to finalize the treaty?"

"Yeah."

Christine made a sound of disapproval.

"We'll see what we can do. You, captain, can't do any more here."

"If I may ask, Jim, what transpired?"

"An arrow, that's what transpired. Nyota decided to play the hero and take one for the team."

"There was an assassination attempt on you in the middle of negotiations?"

"No, not on me. Spock, just," Jim took my hand and put it to his face.

"You desire a meld."

"It'll be easier this way."

"Captain, we have not discussed the matter of deeper telepathic contact."

"Do it, Spock. You can control it, can't you?"

"Yes."

"Then do it. Like the meld the other you did. Without all the emotional transference," Jim winced.

"You are sure."

"How many times do I have to say yes? Want it in writing?" his voice sharp.

I looked at Jim.

"Sorry. I'm just. The thing came out of nowhere. Adrenaline high's wearing off." Jim scrubbed at his face. "Sorry. If you don't want to do it, you don't have to."

I put my hand to Jim's face.

And

--

heard, more than saw, the first arrow that cracked the glass. second shattered the window and already yelling at the dignitaries gathered to get on the floor

"Down down down get down! Get down!"

_Idiot!_ get down stop standing so stupified get going we're under attack where the fuck is security? crowding in to provide protection they're making perfect targets keep moving keep moving, idiots what kind of training do they _give_ these guys?

"Surveillance, this is security, we've got a code 26—"

more arrows flying through, screams of pain as one leg skewered and who the hell attacks with arrows what kind of place is this I thought they had warp

"This is Lt. Uhura speaking"

communicator communicator where the hell is my oh fuck, lost it fucking dress uniforms utility belts Nyota's got good presence of mind definite grasp of the situation gotta tell that to Spock later and there's the stupid okay three, two, one, keep moving pick up keep moving get a good look through the window and crashing in next to Nyota

"For the love of—captain, stay down and stay out of sight!"

arrows splintered through the furniture, Nyota close beside and she's giving out orders, taking charge of the situation not letting the chaos get to her head

"Find the archer and neutralize him. I repeat, we are under attack by an unidentified assassin with a long range weapon, possibly bow and arrow or crossbow—"

flicking out the communicator

"From my position, I'd say five hundred meters, two o'clock. There's lot of buildings here with a perfect shot at this window—"

Nyota giving a look and she gets why I did that, good uptake on info this must be how she managed Cestus, the Gorn situation, and smiling at her

"The enemy has ceased fire for now—Ambassador Taeyooth, remain on the floor! Don't try to move him! Security, evacuate these people."

"How do you like your pop quiz, lieutenant?"

"You should be able to triangulate the archer's position and make it fast. I don't like the way we're pinned down here"

taking in the sight of dignitaries panicked and cringing on the floor looking to Nyota for guidance and seeing the fear in their expressions snap out of it Kirk and focus, focus, there's a way out of this eyes wandering over busted tables furniture heaved upside down obstacles or places for cover could go either way and that aide still screaming for help arrow sticking out of his leg

"I'll be back. You're doing great"

heard but ignored Nyota's protests leaping over chair stuffed with arrows and dragging the aide to a place with relatively higher cover, checking the wound stuck cleanly

drawing back and images superimposed comparing the severity of the wound of the ones seen before checking for signs yeah the guy might be going into shock and always keep your head down Kirk those guys are fucking this up these native security guys are _shuffling_ around to escort people out of the room

"We've got the shooter, he's been apprehended. Everyone, the coast is clear"

people crawling out of the corners to the door others shaken dazed with the thousand yard stare and

"This wound doesn't look too bad, but I'm going to break off the arrow stem to get you out of here" into the communicator "Security I need a stretcher, we've got one person with a leg wound, possibly going into shock, there's little bleeding, have medical staff on standby" gripping the arrow and asking "ready?" receiving no reply and "one, two three" breaking only to be followed by the sound of more screaming

must've only been a few minutes, five tops Nyota did a good job getting it straightened out really fast

all clear nodding satisfaction duty done walk towards Nyota but her eyes widen and arms reach out and falling and falling brace yourself brace yourself automatically a reflex from training martial arts hit the floor with a slap still alert stay alert what the hell is going on to see Nyota with something sticking out of her chest

shit shit shit shit communicators out and

"There's a second attacker I repeat there's a second attacker"

everyone's out of the room except him and Nyota and the aide with an arrow stuck there's nothing more I can do for him but fuck Nyota had to play the hero Scotty's gonna kill me Spock's gonna kill me too

dragging tables up to provide some cover against more arrows Nyota in a weird position against the wall

"Nyota, blink if you can hear me"

"You should've stayed down, Jim"

and weak laughter but damn if she isn't going to be a kickass captain someday what the hell was she thinking going into communications I'm surprised Pike didn't see her immediately

"Yeah, well, you know me. Can't take orders. How're you feeling?"

"Like I've just been shot with an arrow"

couldn't fucking _ask_ for better command presence and vaguely aware that the communicator is chirping

"Have you got the bastard?"

"We're making additional sweeps of the area, sir, I suggest you stay down until we've confirmed that everything's clear"

"And be fucking thorough this time! Kirk out"

Nyota gives a look like I shouldn't've said 'fuck' but it's unacceptable that we lose her because of a security screw up have to have a talk with Giotto

examining the wound and it's gone straight through and oh fuck but it's gone straight through into the wall and oh fuck that's gotta hurt that's gotta really hurt and worry that she'll go into shock also debating should I move her or not looks like a really bad position to be in

"If it makes you feel any better, you passed this mission with flying colors"

trying to ease a hand under preparing to move her and she inhales gasps with pain knows what I'm planning on doing but doesn't say a word just replies and I could not be prouder this is what the _Enterprise_ is made of this is why I'm training her to be captain this is why Spock loved her and Scotty's head over heels I'm gonna be so dead when we get back

"Mission's not over yet, captain. No one's signed anything"

brace yourself Nyota

"Eh, details. Three, two one"

a yell a scream I'd scream too the arrow moved a little damn but what do I do now gotta get her to Bones hope it didn't puncture a lung and what the hell is taking security so long really have to talk to Giotto about this

adrenaline adrenaline adrenaline pouring gotta do something gotta move gotta do something stay still Kirk wait for the all clear wait for it count sheep or something talk stay down don't do anything stupid adrenaline adrenaline agonizing to stay still but stay the fuck down

"Think this'll change the treaty?"

"Of course"

stay still hands preternaturally still and the planet's security idiots look like they want to come charging in

"Stay clear. It's not safe yet. I'm waiting for word from one of my guys"

tone brooking no argument Nyota grimaces the expression meant to be laughter

"How're you feeling?"

"I'll be fine. I don't think it got anything major, or I'd already be dead."

"What do you always tell me about lying about the amount of pain I'm in?"

"Well I understand it now. Jim, keep talking to me. I need something to focus on."

amusement and can't help it if I weren't already wrapped around Spock's finger I'd ask her out right now and she'd probably still slap me

"Okay. The treaty. Depending on who the idiots are, this might change everything. We might walk away from this with nothing at all."

"Do you think anyone was specifically targeted?"

"We'll find out when we start questioning them."

"All that work for nothing."

"Not for nothing. This is just a wild card. We'll figure something out."

"This could be cause for another war. We started another war, Jim."

skin clammy and greying

"Hey, the only people who got injured were you and that aide over there. They think they've got reason to start a war. We've got a reason now to threaten legal action against them."

"You want to sue these governments? Are you crazy?"

"Shaw could probably think of some argument and Spock can probably find evidence that their security was lax, leading to this ridiculous situation we're in right now. Yeah, I'm thinking of threatening to sue them. And we'd win. You've just got us a trump card."

"Have to play it wisely."

"I've got no doubt that you will."

what the fuck are those guys in security _doing_?! gonna court martial them after I put them in the brig and kick the shit out of them and this is fucking ridiculous adrenaline come on hate this part of everything waiting fucking sucks and just calm down, Kirk, get a hold of yourself

what seems like an eternity and finally the communicator chirps it better be fucking good news

"All clear, sir"

_great_

one signal and the security medical staff pour in damn but they're pretty well trained take Nyota off his hands take the aide in a stretcher

adrenaline adrenaline

Scotty's gonna kill me

--

Jim gasped.

"Ow," he put his head in his hands. "Is there a way to do that without having to feel everything again? I feel like I just ran a marathon. In five minutes."

"With more training, you may shield yourself from the emotions and distance yourself from the experience."

"Oh. So that's why you didn't want to do it."

"I attempted to keep the meld limited to this memory. The mind automatically makes connections between memories based on content and emotions. Your mind seems to make several associations particularly rapidly."

"Thanks. For not," he spread his hands out.

"Captain, Commander, I hate to break this up, but I need you leave. I'll notify you as soon she wakes up."

"Okay. Thanks, Chris. Spock."

"Momentarily, Jim."

Before we left, I carefully put my hand to Nyota's face.

It is useless to fear the possibilities that have not occurred, that could have occurred. She is alive. We move forward.

_Ndugu_.

Her body will make a full recovery. Her mind is a strong as ever. Jim is right. She will make a fearless captain.

I will make recommendations to Number One accordingly.

"_You make them sound like old Earth sailors. The sailors would go out to sea and come back to shore, briefly, with wonderful stories of exotic countries, beautiful treasures, and the thrilling dangers of the ocean. They'd stay on land long enough to tell their stories and then leave, drawn by the sound of the seagulls. Entranced by the rolling waters. It was a lonely life, but it was the only life they thought worth living."_

Nyota would not take any attempt on my part to shield her from certain duties kindly. But she is ndugu, she is wounded, and the Taxidermist is believed to be at large.

I rein in those emotions.

She will be a fearless captain.


	178. Ch 178

"Jim."

"I need to follow up on their investigation planetside."

"Do you wish to talk about the matter?"

"What's there to talk about? You saw what went down."

"Emotional repercussions after such events are common, particularly if you feel a sense of responsibility—"

"I've already forgotten about it. Moved on."

"It is no longer necessary to take such drastic measures afterwards—"

"Spock, I really don't see what the problem is. You saw what needed to be seen. We get into those situations practically every other mission."

"One experiences a situation differently when it is one's subordinate who placed herself in danger to prevent harm from coming to oneself."

"Yeah, it was stupid of her to push me out of the way. But it's done."

"You feel nothing."

"What I feel isn't important, okay? I have to get this mission done."

"Jim—"

"Don't do this. Bones always wants me to talk about emotional consequences and that shit, but don't drag up what's _over_, Spock. It's not worth it."

A pause.

"As you wish."

Another pause.

"Look, I'm fine. Really. And if I'm not okay right now, I'll be okay later. So don't worry about it."

He kissed me.

"I've gotta go. But that telepathy stuff, want to get started tonight?"

"I have no objection to that suggestion."

"Okay. All right."

He kissed me again.

"I'll see you."

--

"Then if you will, Prime Minister?"

Nyota sat in a hoverchair by the table, face damp and grey but attired in her dress uniform. She insisted on accompanying the captain in the final hours of the negotiations. As I understand, she played her trump card shrewdly and managed to rewrite the entire treaty for the official creation of a four-planet confederation. The Mediators are on their way to ensure that the transition occurs smoothly.

Flashbulbs went off as the last dignitary signed the treaty and bowed to Nyota, murmuring another apology. She waved it off.

Nyota beamed. Jim stood next to her, watching her carefully, a polite smile on his face.

"Then I would like to congratulate all those gathered on the birth of the Confederation of Dagazocito, Traturjose, Crsitanio, and Chammorv."

There was a reception afterwards for those gathered and Nyota desired to stay to engage in further discussions, but Jim would hear none of it. He promptly ordered her back to the ship and to Sickbay, to make a 'sure and speedy recovery.'

Nyota gave him a very strange look when he said that phrase. He grinned.

"What? I can be poetic sometimes. You don't think so?"

"No. No, not really."

He laughed.

"Spock and I've got this covered, don't worry about it. We won't screw it up."

She gave him a look.

"Probably," Jim smiled. "Transporter room?"

"Captain, is that you? Mind telling me what the bloody hell you're doing dragging Nyota down with you planetside to those arrow maniacs? It's only been five hours since she left surgery and I don't think the doctor even cleared her for duty!"

Scotty continued to speak while Nyota shook her head.

"Um, nice talking to you Scotty, one to beam up."

--

After the reception, Jim and I returned to his quarters and changed out of our uniforms. I sat on the floor and motioned for him to take a seat opposite me.

He seemed somewhat nervous.

"Where're we going with this?" he asked suddenly.

"If you would provide clarification."

Jim motioned between us.

"This. You. Me. Where're we going with it?"

"I had hoped that we would eventually be bonded."

"The telepathic link?"

"Yes."

His expression was thoughtful.

"What's it like? Having a bond."

"I am uncertain. My own bond with T'Pring was immature and severed when we were young. Even if it had been the case that I was able to experience a full bond with a Vulcan, the differences in structure between a Terran and Vulcan brain are such that any telepathic link would be markedly different."

"You don't know what it's like, but you want it."

"I do not know specifically what it will entail, but I have gained an impression through my observations that I desire a bond."

"Then tell me what you know. Is it like our minds combining or what?"

I considered my response.

"How much do you recall concerning vector spaces, Jim?"

"A little. Why?"

"Then consider your mind as a vector space of dimension two, call it _K_, and similarly a two dimensional vector space for my mind, called _S_. We may take the vectors k1 and k2 as the linearly independent basis of _K_, and the vectors s1 and s2 for _S_. What you spoke of, a complete combining of our minds, is analogous to a change of basis operation such that k1' = s1' and k2' = s2'. Note that the dimension of the new space remains two. Certain mind melds achieve this effect. However, I believe the one used by my counterpart on you belonged to another class of melds."

"Put this in Cartesian coordinates for me."

"Consider the space **R**2, or what is traditionally known as the xy-plane. Picture your mind as the xy-plane, and my mind as another plane, call it the zw-plane."

"Do they intersect?"

"No. They are skew."

"Okay, so we're working in five dimensions. Mind melds do what?"

"A complete and total mind meld creates a one-to-one correspondence between all the points in your xy-plane and my zw-plane, essentially making them equivalent."

"Doesn't that mean you become the same person?"

"Affirmative. The dimension of the vector spaces remains the same."

Jim looked mildly disturbed.

"You said the other Spock used something else?"

"Affirmative. Melds are typically more similar to the intersection of two planes, rather than a complete equivalence. The individuals retain their distinct spaces, and the point of the meld is like a vector subspace."

"So the meld is like two planes that intersect, and the line of intersection is where all the info exchange and telepathy is going on."

"Correct."

"Got it. All right, so if our minds are two dimensional planes, a meld is like going into to 3d. What's a bond?"

"The bond between mates is analogous to the direct product **R**2 × **R**2, resulting in four dimensions."

"You lost me."

"If we go back to the spaces _K_ and _S_ with bases k1, k2, s1, and s2 respectively, then the bond between individuals is like creating a new space, called _K_ × _S_, whose basis is built from the basis vectors of the original two spaces. Thus, the linearly independent vectors would be, in this case, (k1, s1), (k1, s2), (k2, s1), and (k2, s2)."

"So we have new vectors made from vectors."

"Essentially, yes."

"That still doesn't tell me anything about how this'll feel."

"In the mind meld—"

"The 3d one?"

"Yes. In that mind meld, how would you describe that sensation?"

"I don't know. Kind of like our minds meeting. Like you said, I could feel how we were separate—how I was separate from you, and there were only specific parts that were touching and being exchanged. The analogy with the planes made sense. I don't know how to process 4d though."

"In the link, we retain our individual personalities. Our basis vectors are not transformed or made equivalent, as it would if we were to merge completely."

"Okay. Then what about what you said with the (k1, s1) stuff?"

"Through the combination of our distinct components, we are able to create something that we otherwise would never be able to achieve. I do not know what our minds will produce or how it will be, but Vulcans often speak of it as gaining access to another world. The mindspace of bonded individuals is said to be that much more complex."

"That sounds... interesting. Vague, but interesting. I'm having trouble wrapping my mind around it."

"It is an analogy. Likely each pair experiences the bond in a different manner."

"So do you guys have bonds that act like tensor products or something?"

"Actually, my meld with the Teknosapiens felt as though my mind was being tensored with the vast intelligence of the supercomputer."

"Woah. How was that?"

"Indescribable."

"Ever melded with a mind that's, say, dimension five? Or dimension one?"

"Yes. I chose the number two out of convenience for this analogy, but the spaces of minds rarely fit neat categories of integer dimensions. It would be more accurate to say that the dimensions of spaces for all creatures fall along the positive real numbers—that is to say that there are innumerably many sizes and types."

"Real numbers. Doesn't that imply some sort of hierarchy? The smarter you are, the larger the number?"

"The Zermelo-Fraenkel axioms, combined with the axiom of choice, allows us to define a well ordering on the reals, but the idea that a larger dimension implies a greater degree of intelligence is not true. That would be analogous to saying that potatoes are more evolved than Terrans because they have more chromosomes."

"Then what defines complexity in mind spaces? If you can stretch the analogy that far."

"I can. One may have a two dimensional vector space where all the elements are in **Q**, the field of rational numbers. The structure of **Q** is significantly less complex than that of **R**, or **C**, the field of complex numbers, yet the dimension of the spaces might still be two. Or one may impose additional structure, such as introducing a norm or a topology."

Jim laughed.

"This is great. I wish I had you when I was taking Real Analysis or something."

"Actually, I have yet to meet a mind that is like a Hilbert space."

"Remind me what that is?"

"An infinite dimensional vector spaces. Hilbert space in particular generalizes the concept of Euclidean spaces."

"I don't know if I'd want a mind like that, or if I'd want to meet one."

"What are you objections?"

"You might get lost in it. With a mindspace that big, you'd stop living in reality."

"With a space that large, the mind would be the only reality."

"Yeah. Let's not go there," Jim shook his head. "Okay. I think I'm ready for this."

I carefully placed my fingers to his face.


	179. Ch 179

_My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts._

Jim opened his eyes. Then blinked.

"It didn't work?"

We were in his quarters, positioned exactly as we were before I initiate the meld.

I chose to allow Jim to create the first conceptualization of the meeting of our minds so that he might familiarize himself with the sensation. Apparently, his mind chose to replicate our physical surroundings exactly.

_Fascinating_.

Jim shook his head.

"You didn't say anything. And I didn't hear you. How do I know what you just said?"

"We are in the meld, Jim."

He looked around.

"This is it?"

_This is the beginning._

"Okay... now what?"

_You do not need to continue to speak_.

_more comfortable this way weird is the real or dream having trouble separating_

_This space has been generated for the most part by your consciousness. I will change the setting to align with the natural subconscious associations you've made with the idea of a 'mindspace.'_

"Sure."

His quarters fade and inky darkness blooms from the walls until it encompasses everything and our bodies disappear all sense of physicality dissolves the warm blackness of his subconscious spreads into something that hesitantly touches against mine like salt crystals melting in water and suddenly

sparks

like static charge building and releasing, lightning and electricity thrumming in water through saline solution conducting current and that current surging rippling surfacing with a flash of light skimming across to brush crystals in darkness glimmering with reflections

I know you

ever a tactile person, his mind reaches out to touch the sparks igniting from water and crystal back into magnificent geometric forms

you're a fractal he laughs

do you need more structure, Jim?

no, not right now. maybe later. I like it this way. it's like we're space.

sparks evolving crystals separating, water spreading mixing churning, light settling into the blaze of stars salt and water coalescing into planets everything rapidly spinning turning shapes transforming into stardust newly formed suns planets spiral galaxy forming as systems circle the Milky Way exploding out between our minds and my anticipation that in a bond it will not merely be between us but inside us creating anew burning bright accelerating out collapsing in. it is not surprising that space is where our minds turn first

so what now?

now we will find a means by which you might navigate this space.

I'm doing fine right now.

yes, however—

and it feels like a shift, like planes scraping and screaming against each other as the intersection between our minds changes the sparks stream past like light at warp speed feeling Jim's mindspace almost bend ripple and

fascinating

holy shit

getting closer to the volatile realm of memory the center littered with neutron stars time stretching and everything haphazard

stop stop stop Spock stop—

Jim?

stop don't go there don't go there no no shit stop

and I am wrenching our minds back apart back to water and crystals and electric currents away from the possibility of black holes the event horizon sucking us in tearing us with the force of things remembered horrors past but the water is murky the fractal crystals fractured Jim's fear muted but still permeating the space

Jim

inhale exhale inhale exhale

Jim, we will not go where you do not desire

space dissolving blackness and sparks fading into something entirely physical Jim willing it into a structure snapping the hyperbolic folds and my mind falling through to another plane that is surprisingly well ordered. our bodies materialize and I am standing beside him

It is a computer directory. Each file name is labeled with the stardate and mission title, beginning with our first mission on the _Enterprise_. Every mission is present, tagged with labels from my and Jim's recollections. We both know, however, that certain missions are missing key information. Most are devoid of intense emotional content.

Is this your space or mine?

Ours, I suspect. I was not aware you also utilize the method of organization—Terrans rarely create definitive directory.

You thought there'd be more chaos.

Yes.

I'm surprised you organize time this way. I thought it'd be by stardates, not grouping it into our missions.

Jim's underlying longing to remember discreet parts of his past but an inability to separate the associations of emotions and trauma the sense of neutron stars and density never linear not even cyclical clamping down and focusing on these computer directories organizing the time into something recognizable a better time a happier place the safety of the _Enterprise_ and the friendships formed here but neutron stars a feeling permeating like dark laughter and sandpaper bitterness. Jim's eyes shadowed then brighten, the emotions skittering away

can we go somewhere less clinical?

where would you like to go?

_us_

water and crystals and light returning slowly our bodies intact and uniforms weaving into shirts touching skin to skin hidden in his closet and _you weren't supposed to know about that_ he's smiling as crystals stretch into streets and skyscrapers water into a harbor and sky sparks flicking off the rails of the subway into the light of our apartment into the stars of a city destroyed but preserved in memory and between Jim's emotional understanding and my eidetic memory reconstruct a place lost to the edge of forever the computer parts spread haphazard the kitchen sink filled with dirty pans the park is not in autumn but his imagined colors of spring having grown on a farm he remembers the colors of the flowers that push up first the scent of earth wet and sighing with rain the way the trees put out buds combined with my scientific knowledge of plant physiology and botany we watch an entire city come to life again complete with the crew of the _Enterprise_ smiling in coffee shops throwing a frisbee in the grass and they greet some as friends others as colleagues but the formality of rank is absent everyone is relaxed and my self consciousness of being with Jim in public is gone

he smiles, takes my hand

_us_

with his other hand he takes off my hat which has somehow appeared and pulls me close

I wanted to do this

and kisses me on the Brooklyn Bridge

I put both my hands to his face and kiss him back earnestly people walk past us familiar unfamiliar faces some stop to look others keep going my mind remembers rates of crowd flow Jim remembers the way the skyscrapers gleamed on a bright sunny day my memories supply facts about bridge structure and architecture and projected wind speeds on a day like this in a place like this and Jim remembers the feeling of a warm sun and a cool breeze we can feel this happening the meld at times unnatural and things clash there are incongruities but his lips are cool on mine and we are kissing in the sunlight over the water on a bridge

_us_

we are kissing and Jim wants to kiss me truly physically touch me but I pull back

we are not ready for that as of yet

sex and melding?

yes

frustration amusement curiosity

it took considerable effort on my part to prevent us from disappearing into the neutron stars. if something were to happen during intercourse through the meld, I am not sure I would be able to rein it back. they have an extraordinarily powerful pull, Jim

sex and nightmares. that's one I never thought I'd put together

Brooklyn Bridge getting darker

teach me. teach me how to control it better

intuition whispering intuition telling that between the two of us shielding and boxing off memories into sectors cannot work will never work because there is something unresolved emotions pulling grief and terror unprocessed only stowed away for a later time indefinitely hidden pushed into neutron stars

Brooklyn Bridge crystallizes skyscrapers turn to pillars of salt harbor swells sky floods the lights turn to sparks and electricity once more

I separate us fractals coming out of solution water receding back into Jim light fading electricity dying away I glimpse the tears in curtain of water that coats his mind I examine the fissures apparent in the geometry of my mind

and open my eyes.

Jim opens his.

He smiles, but there is something behind it I cannot name, an absence like light neutron stars do not emit.

His smile widens.

"That was awesome."


	180. Ch 180

"Good God, Scotty, why the hell's it so goddamn cold on this ship?!"

"Working on it, doctor. Captain's down in engineering helping out. Would you like to join us?"

"I've got patients man! Nyota being one of them!"

"I can dig up some thermal blankets, they must be around here somewhere."

"That's not the issue here! I've already got blankets galore. And tell Jim to take a shot of this, unless he wants his hands to turn blue."

"Will do, doc. I think that just about does it, Mr. Spock. Let's head back down to the decks."

--

A Constitution class starship is designed to support upwards of 1100 individuals for extended periods of time. It is a piece of military machinery, outfitted with phasers, photon torpedoes, cannons of different varieties, and the means by which to guide all these weapons in an extremely precise and efficient manner. It is also a piece of scientific equipment, filled with state of the art laboratories, computer systems, sensing devices, powerful telescopes and spectrometers, all that is necessary to take accurate measurements of the objects encountered in space. It is place of residence with recreational facilities, conference rooms, mess halls, sleeping quarters, gymnasiums, and a 'spit-polished', as Leonard likes to say, Sickbay.

Due to the nature of the missions assigned, a Constitution class starship must be totally self sufficient. Due to the physics of traveling at or faster than the speed of light, its dimensions must fall within certain constraints. Years of experience have also made the engineers cautious. There are multiple back-up systems to minimize the probability that the crew might die due to a life systems failure.

All of these requirements have made the engineers who design such ships extremely creative. Every effort has been extended to make the design efficient and elegant, convenient and capable. Nothing, least of all energy, is wasted.

For example, the warp nacelles, when active, generate an enormous amount of heat and other radiation. While the radiation can simply be released into space as waste, the problem of cooling the nacelles has been central in warp engine technology. In the early years of warp technology development, it was thought that the heat could simply be bled off into space with little regulation. That hypothesis proved to be false, as nacelles dangerously overheated, sometimes causing physical meltdowns, or lost heat too quickly. A stable method of temperature regulation was necessary.

Several of the most current improvements of engines deal with effectively managing this problem. As it is unlikely that the perfect engine design will be discovered in the near future, starship engineers have focused on means by which to redirect the heat lost back into the system in the case of increasing nacelle temperatures, or to lower temperatures by transferring heat to various coolants, then utilizing that heat to power other parts of the ship. One of the more archaic, but effective, solutions is related to the use of steam turbines.

"You're serious? We still have turbines on this ship? I thought everything ran on electro-plasma," Jim shouted over the roar of the machinery. His face and uniform were streaked with grease, dirt, and dust.

"Yes, well, it's a bit more complicated than that," Scotty rummaged around his toolbox. "Vulcans have been wrangling with this problem for years, trying to find a better way to manage the matter/antimatter reactions. Did you finish the rewiring?"

"Yeah, it's done. Carlos said it wasn't the best job, but it'll hold up. You think this has got something to do with the core?"

"Where's my—? Aha, there's the bugger. And everything's related to the core reactions—even mediated through the dilithium, the plasma stream it generates is extremely unstable and tricky to manage. It's a good thing going to bloody warp eats up so much energy, or we'd be sitting idly on the equivalent of a very small star."

"Scotty, I took the course in warp engines. I've been through the sims."

"That's all theory. Any engineer knows nothing works like it does in theory. You probably did all your calculations using the magnetohydrodynamic model, didn't you?"

"We used the kinetic model too, sometimes."

"Well, lad, they're both wrong. And they're both right. You're thinking more like Chekov, theoretical physicist that he is, not like an engineer. With us, it's whatever works in the actual universe, not what we think might work in a lovely little computer sim."

"All right, then tell me what's going on. Why's my ship falling to pieces?"

"May I suggest, captain, that we relocate to a relatively quieter location, if Scotty is to lecture you on the functions of a ship?"

"Sounds good to me. Scotty?"

"I could use a little break. Oi! Careful with that, Knowels! They don't grow laser calibrators on trees now."

"Sorry, Scotty."

"And tell Keenser I'll be checking out the sewage system," he turned to us. "There's a nice little corner down there, if you don't mind the smell."

"All right."

"Let me get my datapad, and I'll join you lads in a minute."

We headed to the area Scotty mentioned. It was significantly quieter, but still extremely cold.

After a few moments of waiting, Jim took my hands in his. I shivered.

"Spock, how're you holding up?"

"I will be fine."

He kissed my fingers then gently pulled me towards him, bringing my hands to the relative warmth of his body.

"You always say that."

"It is always true."

Jim tightened his grip and smiled, the expression open.

A dull clang sounded nearby. We disengaged from each other.

A few moments later, Scotty appeared.

"I couldn't find the right PADD, but lucky me," he held up the object, "Nyota's taken to labeling them for me. Anyway.

"This," he pointed, "is the _Enterprise_. Obviously. Quite a well endowed lady, if I do say so myself."

Jim smirked.

"Now, we've got here the engine systems, the deuterium/antideuterium pods, the reactors here with the dilithium crystals. You already know that this reaction generates a steady stream of extremely high energy plasma, what we like to call electro-plasma—but that's a misleading name, it's better to call it warp plasma, since that's essentially what it does. It drives these lovely engines here, create subspace bubble and so on and so forth. That's standard. All right, then.

"The problem is a whole number of things. I love my engines, they're beautiful little beasties, but they have some nasty flaws that no one's going to fix for a very long time, not unless they rewrite Maxwell's equations," Scotty paused and frowned, staring at the diagram. "Where to begin?"

"I suggest you begin with the problem of warp plasma, as it is the central issue."

"Aye, that sounds well enough."

He continued to stare, manipulating the datapad.

"Scotty?"

"Huh? Yes? Sorry, I didn't notice this before—I could've sworn it was the other way around. But then, they'd have to change the kernel and replace the catalyst with a—aha! Clever, I see. No, I remember this—"

"Scotty," Jim ordered. "What is going on with my ship?"

"I haven't a clue. Bloody EPS, I don't know what they were thinking," he shook his head. "Anyway. Basically, what's become standard in starships is to have a plasma transfer system run throughout, and that's where we get a good deal, probably 65% of our the electricity—it's why they call it 'electro'-plasma. The system converting plasma to electricity is none too easy, and it used to be a nightmare, converting from such a high energy state to something we could use, but most of the kinks have been worked out. For the most part. It's not perfect."

"Is that why we get circuit overloads all the time? Because EPS is out of whack?"

Scotty nodded.

"Every so often the converter has a hiccup and sends a surge of electricity, instead of the nice chunks systems need."

"And it gets worse in battle because everything is engaged and online."

"The converters get a wee bit overwhelmed. There's really nothing we can do about it except performing regular diagnostics and replacing the old ones. But anyway, that's not the only problem. When we first discovered matter/antimatter reactions, we thought it would act like a never ending source of caffeine and give a jolt of electricity wherever we needed it.

"Well that's just nonsense, pure and simple. Even the sun's power isn't something that any civilization's been able to directly harness. It all has to get converted—and usually multiple times at that—to some form we can use. EPS can only give us 65% of our power, and as far as sources go, it's a bit unreliable.

"That's where these turbines come in. We use huge amounts of water on this ship. Steam power, working almost on the same principles as the old nuclear reactors, even the ancient fossil fuel power plants of Earth. Water's an excellent coolant, and it, with some solvents mixed in to make it more effective, is what our lovely lady uses to regulate those nacelle temperatures and keep the plasma from overheating the entire ship.

"The water's heated to steam, the steam drives a series of turbines, the remaining hot water's cooled by bleeding off the heat into space—a tricky enterprise, that, since if the speed of circulation's not right, the water could freeze and then you'd have a backed up system in addition to busted pipes—and it all cycles over. Do you remember the vat I transported into?"

"What kind of question is that, 'do I remember?'" Jim laughed.

"Well, it was part of that coolant/turbine system. I think it's a pretty elegant solution, all in all. Steam turbines are amazingly low maintenance, compared to finicky deuterium reactions and EPS. When our systems, essentially EPS, go offline, it's the turbines that keep life systems online."

"One question on design philosophy."

"Yes, Spock?"

"The degree to which all our power relies on the deuterium reactions seems dangerous. I was under the impression that emergency systems are maintained by another backup system driven by nuclear fission."

"It is. There, it's a matter of switching the pipes the water runs through because the energy generated by fission still harnesses steam and the turbines. Like I said, I think it's an elegant and very efficient solution. You don't have to waste space or money building an entire new system just for backups. Using water's brilliant too—we'll always have water on board, it's easy to replicate, we know all its properties. Warp plasma's still a mysterious thing. Anyone who says otherwise is lying."

"So is this a failure with EPS or the turbines?"

"I've no idea. The lads should be bringing the nuclear reactor online soon and give us some temperature controls, but I've no idea where the system failure is here. Everything's blinking red on my charts, with no clue where it all started."

"As I recall, you stated that there was a minor problem for which you desired Engineer Keenser's assistance."

"We took a look at it and had the lads fix it, but that's not the root. It's something else."

"You've been running maintenance. Maybe it's there?"

"I've been running bloody maintenance on every system of the ship for these past few shifts, Jim. It could be anything."

"If EPS is consistently unreliable, then it is logical to check the converters and the plasma coolant ducts first. The probability is high that the problem originates there."

"But I've already looked over every single thing, and all the converters are in fine working order, for once. We're still waiting for the reports from the nacelles. It might be there—a burst pipe, for all I know. It should notify on my panels if something like that happened."

"Oh," Jim said, as though he realized something. "So that's why the bridge gets notifications about emergency hatches opening in water pipes."

"You only just figured that out, captain? And you said you knew about warp core mechanics."

"I thought Spock was being anal about everything."

I raised my eyebrow.

Jim shrugged.

"You like to control things. I wouldn't've been surprised if you put the entire ship on surveillance. Or tagged me with some alarm that goes off when I'm within an AU of the ship."

"Jim, there is no need to make hyperbolic statements."

"Don't tell me you weren't tempted when you marooned me."

"It is unethical to place tracking devices on other individuals without their knowledge or consent."

"But you were still tempted."

"Scotty, is there anything else with which you require assistance?"

"A long list of things, but—"

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you, crazy engineer."

"Hey Sulu. What's up?"

"What's up? We're 16 hours from getting into orbit and the ship is _freezing_. I'm going to be loading animals—most are going to die if you don't get controls back online, Scotty."

"Lad, I'm working on it."

"Could you work faster?"

Scotty looked from Sulu to Jim, then back again.

"What?" Sulu asked.

"The resemblance is uncanny, I have to say. Didn't the doctor mistake you for Jim?"

"Have you been talking to Chekov?"

"Word gets around."

Sulu looked mildly annoyed while Jim wore an expression of extreme amusement.

"Bones thought you were me?"

"No, he didn't. He just jabbed me with a hypo a few times—he does that to everyone."

"No he doesn't."

"Yeah he does."

"Spock? Help me out here."

"As my primary care physician is M'Benga, I am afraid I cannot weigh in on this discussion."

"Cop out."

"_Anyway_. Scotty, I need temperature controls and I need them before we get to the planet. This mission is turning out to be more complicated than we thought in the first place."

"Will you stop channeling Jim, especially when the man's standing right bloody next to you? I'll get it done. You worry about your mission and I'll take care of engineering. I'll fix it as fast as I can."

Sulu looked supremely dissatisfied with that answer.

"Get it done faster."

He walked away, with Scotty looking at him incredulously. When he disappeared around a corner, Scotty looked at Jim.

Jim burst out laughing.

"I blame this on you. I blame it entirely on you, captain."


	181. Ch 181

"Well goddamn."

"It's the mess they promised it to be," Sulu looked at his datapad. "Doc, want to get your team started?"

"Might as well get my hands dirty."

Animals were everywhere, birds nesting in the rafters, an enormous shaggy creature reminiscent of the Terran sloth or Andorian erup was curled in a corner, licking itself. There was a collection of jars stuffed with reptiles—purple lizards and cream-colored turtles with soft shells, coral and fish darting around in the murky waters of an old thermos. On the floor were droppings, insects scuttling, shed fur and feathers, hard brown pellets of unknown substances. Above all, the stench of festering injuries, urine, broken eggs, and swollen eyes.

"Commander, is there a reason why I can still smell through these masks? Are the filters faulty?"

"Negative. Some scents will not be neutralized as the filter will not recognize them as harmful. The masks are fully operational."

"All right. Did everyone hear that? Even if you can smell, the masks are fine. Just keep doing your jobs. Everyone have everything they need? If you need extra gloves or your filter breaks down, we've got some back at camp. Okay, any questions?"

"Where do we start?"

"Let Doc McCoy's team get a head start figuring out which animals need care right now. Handling teams, pick a spot and start putting them in the appropriate cages. Carriers, you know which handlers you're assigned to, does everyone have enough antigrav holders?"

Murmurs of assent.

"I'll be going around to make sure this goes as smoothly as possible. Remember, if you're not doing anything, go and find something to do. This facility's too big for hands to be idle. Got it? Questions?"

"What about shuttle and transporter schedule?"

"Don't worry about that. Get these guys into cages, and the other teams'll get them on the _Enterprise_. I've got coordinators waiting to receive, and they'll take care of beam ups and packing the shuttles. I covered all this in the general meeting, Dzime. Where were you?"

"Getting last minute booster shots, sir. Had a reaction to the regular ones."

"All right. And if anyone starts feeling sick, let Doc McCoy know immediately. _Immediately_. Is that clear?"

"Aye, sir."

"Okay. Then let's do this."

--

A six-legged horse-like creature reared up, snorting and screeching at the people approaching. Everyone kept away, afraid the hooves of the forelegs would come down on their heads. Don't split my skull radiated off each crewmember.

Old, dark yellow wounds oozed along the tantalo's knees and the corners of its eyes were dripping white pus. The coat was uneven and bare in some spots.

It continued to rear up, eyes rolling, muscles still powerful despite the multiplicity of injuries and infections it carried.

"Lt. Sulu, we don't know—"

"I've got this one. Don't make eye contact, and back up. You're crowding her, she feels cornered. Lt. Marc, clear the area for me, give me at least seven meters. More, if you can."

We watched as Sulu approached the tantalo without fear, his eyes trained on the creature's enormous body. His path meandered, curved around rather than approach directly. When it seemed the tantalo was debating between turning away and charging forward, Sulu immediately retreated. After an interval, he began again, speaking softly as he approached.

"Hey, baby. I know you don't have any reason to trust me—what'd they do to a beautiful girl like you?"

The tantalo's ears flattened. Sulu backed up again.

"I promise I won't hurt you. They must've said that too, to get you to a place like this. I promise I won't hurt you. Come on."

"Lt. Sulu, are you sure you should be talking to the tantalo like that?" Ensign Xiao-Shu stepped forward.

"Stay back, guys. I've got this, and pay attention this time. I covered this during the handling seminar. See her lateral eyes and a large-angle focus—she's not a predator. Tantalo have got the instincts of prey. You don't stand around and stare."

The tantalo snorted and shifted uneasily as Sulu made his way towards her again. He backed away.

"It's all right, I won't let them hurt you. See—you've got to let them manage their own space and make your intentions clear. Do that by standing up, making yourself visible, and only look at them out of the corner of your eyes. Slowly walk around until they come up to check you out."

A small crowd was beginning to gather to watch, but this only made the tantalo more frantic.

"Guys, get back to duties. This isn't a circus. If you need demos and instructions, I'll help you out later, but right now, stay back and don't crowd her. Stay back. Commander, could you help keep the crowd under control?"

"Lt. Sulu has made his orders clear. Those of you with questions may direct them to me.

I walked away to the side, but in the background, I could hear Sulu's words, spoken softly.

"Don't worry. I won't let them hurt you. We're here to help, I promise. We'll get you cleaned up and beautiful again, get you somewhere they can make everything that hurts go away."

This cycle repeated, where Sulu would get closer to the tantalo, then back up, closer, then back, again and again.

"Come on, baby. It's all right. I won't hurt you. It's all right, I've got all day. You're gonna be okay. It's safe here."

It was rather mesmerizing, and he constantly spoke to the tantalo in low tones. It was another several minutes before the tantalo finally came up and touched him, and another half hour before we could find a means by which to give her the immediate care she needed.

"I can't tell if she's been taken directly from the wild," a vet said, head bent over a tricorder. "These beasties are native to Hassei'muqtad and they domesticate them. But I don't see any marks that she's been trained. Poor thing."

"Think she'll be okay?"

"It's a doozy, all the bugs she's managed to get. But it'll be okay."

When Sulu had to leave to attend to another pressing matter, the tantalo reared up against all those around her.

He sighed.

"Exactly like the Anyuta-k mission. She's like that little Tellarite girl, only I don't have any pictures I can give her. It's okay. I'll be back."

"She'll be fine, lieutenant. You just startled her is all—made an awful lot of noise with that communicator. We've got it under control now."

"Okay. Commander. I think I'll need your help on this one."

--

"You're sure."

"We've tried every way possible, L.T. The tank won't fit into the shuttle."

"I thought we measured it out specifically so that it would."

"Something must've been changed in the middle of construction, because there's no room."

"Which shuttle were the measurements taken from? Do you recall?"

"I don't remember," Sulu shook his head and put his hand against the glass. The whale was sedated inside, various tubes protruding from its body.

"Is there a chance we could transport this? If we have a team on the other end, ready to receive?'

"It is not a matter of reception, Lt. Saurodi, but a matter of space. The transporter room was never designed for an object of this size."

"Do you think Scotty could rig something up?"

"It is possible that Mr. Scott could remove one of the transporter nodes to another platform that could accommodate an object of this size and engage in remote transportation."

"How long would it take?"

--

"Four hours."

Sulu nodded.

"I can deal with that."

"It'll be a finicky piece of work, and I'm not too happy about gutting my transporter, but it can be done."

"We have a supply of replacement transporter nodules, Scotty."

"Aye, Spock, but I'm talking about the underlying circuitry. It'll take me three hours to extract it all from the pad. Setting it up's a piece of cake, if I manage to take the bloody parts out intact in the first place."

"Sounds good to me, as long as it gets done."

"Lad, why didn't you think of cannibalizing a shuttle instead of one of my transporters?"

"We've already stripped them down as much as possible for this mission."

"Is it really that large a crime if we leave the whale on that planet? They've got oceans."

"Oceans of calcium chloride, Scotty. Releasing animals into completely foreign habitats in an uncontrolled way isn't ever a good idea, especially when this one looks like someone took a baseball bat to it."

"All right, all right," Scotty grumbled. "I swear that your demands're getting as ridiculous as our great and exciting captain."

Sulu laughed.

"I've got a good teacher."

"And you!" Scotty pointed his finger at me. "I knew it all along!"

I raised an eyebrow.

"You pretend you're opposed to Jim's craziness, but you're really a facilitator in all this! You shouldn't go around encouraging these lads to take liberties with the transporters! I thought I had an ally in you! This cuts deep, Spock. It hits me, right—" Scotty approximated his heart "there."

"Mr. Scott, your hand is on the wrong side."

He looked down and quickly rectified the error.

"I will assist you in your endeavor, if you so desire."

"Actually, as acting captain of this mission, I need you down on the ground. Sorry Scotty. Find Pasha or something."

"That lad's useless on circuits. Send Keenser up."

"I need him to look over any problems with the cages."

"I'll bet he's the one who caused this entire problem in the first place. Don't look so glum, lads, I'll find a way. We always do. This is the _Enterprise_."

"Four hours, Scotty," Sulu and I took our places on the transporter. "Energize."

--

"Pull! Okay, one, two, three, pull! Put everything into it! Come on, come on!"

Underneath an enormous collapsed nentoferaus, Yeoman Whitwyatt lay screaming. The nentoferaus simply looked at us with mournful eyes.

"Find places where we might attach antigrav holders," I ordered.

"Oh god oh god oh god," and incoherent screaming.

"Is everyone ready? Then on Lt. Sulu's count, lift. Lt. Ogundele, Ensign Vasquez, pull Yeoman Whitwyatt out as soon as her lower body is free."

"Okay, ready guys? Lift on three. One, two, three!"

The yeoman screamed herself hoarse as she was moved. Just as they got her out of range, one of the antigrav holders snapped and the nentoferaus fell to the ground again, heaving.

"Medics, get on her! Hold on, Whitwyatt. We'll get you fixed."

Tears were streaming down her face. She was incoherent with pain.

The nentoferaus began to make a deep sound that rattled us to our very core.

"Oh shit, I think we might've injured it."

"It was already dying when we found it," Dr. Dutcher shook his head. "There's nothing we can do for this guy."

"Don't you have sedatives or something? Something to put it out of its misery?"

"For an animal this size? We're already running low on supplies, even with everything you managed to bring on the _Enterprise_. It was a hard decision, but this one's going to die anyway. We decided to save what we have for other animals that we could actually help."

I stepped towards the nentoferaus. Its breathing was labored, heaving gasps of air entering and exiting its lungs, expanding and contracting the girth of its chest.

"Commander?"

I put my hands to the creature.

"I believe I will be able to assist it."

"You mean you can—?"

"Affirmative."

"Dr. Dutcher? Is this okay with you?"

"As long as it's painless. We need all the help we can get."

--

All around me reverberating is fear and terror and not understanding not processing nothing makes sense nothing is right everything is wrong and the pain the unending gnawing pain of slow death of the swift blow that won't come that never comes only the decay within the constant chronic ceaseless unshifting never ending pain upon pain upon pain upon pain building racking trickling aching aching stiffness and sores and pinpricks pressing eyes taking in everything the foreign scents that say this is not home this is not home. First there was aggression and a will to fight a will to destroy and protect and lash out against any who would harm but after repeated repeated repeated blows and stings and things that have no words the nausea setting in the terror and briefly recalling crushing heads and killing the haze of anger but now only pain that wears away that grinds and never lets up there is no relief and the sleepy haze of metal prodding into skin of disorientation of fog and not knowing and disoriented and suddenly in new places suddenly here not there appearing sounds strange smells distorted smells blending together eyesight blurry—

I latch onto the thought of home and follow it.

Pink skies with three moons and two suns, a flat plain with enormous yellow fernlike plants growing up to the nentoferaus' knees, the soil dry underneath, tree like structures growing up in spirals and curls. The intense heat of night, insects landing on the soft spots behind ears, tails swishing up to swipe them away, gathered in a herd with the young protected in the middle, encircling against the predators that hunt with glowing eyes of heated night.

I keep that memory in the forefront, guiding the nentoferaus' memory to spread to all parts of its brain until it becomes an all encompassing illusion, the scents of foreign wrong alien transforming into the smell of dry grass, dew settled on a child's elbows, musky familiarity of the herd grazing. While the illusion takes hold, I find the neural control center, connecting this creature's brain to its heart.

I guide it to sleep under the green sky of dusk with three moons and primary sun sinking. For a moment, I look out at this wide land, the vastness of the plain, the magnificence of the light casting double shadows on the ferns.

And cannot help but reach out and touch minds again.

Live long, and prosper.

--

"Aren't they the cutest?"

"Chris, you're holding a snake right now? And it's poisonous."

"It's the most adorable little snake I've ever seen!"

"All right," Sulu shrugged.

"Here, feel how smooth the scales are."

"I really don't think that's a good idea. Could you put that away in the holding tank? I've got a problem I have to take care of."

"Can I keep it, Sulu?"

"No."

"I promise I'll take care of it, poor thing."

"It's not you taking care of it that I'm worried about, it's the 'that's a poisonous snake' thing that's got me worried."

"I've always wanted a snake."

"There's lots of less poisonous ones. Spock, do you have any idea how we'll catch these birds?"

"But they aren't as pretty as this one."

"Chris, can you please just put that thing away?" Sulu asked, irritated and mildly panicked.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot you don't like snakes."

"You can do whatever you want with them, just don't get yourself killed. This mission's already had too many injuries to count."

"None of them snake bites, by the way."

"Keep it that way. Anyway, these birds. I feel like they're eyeing us suspiciously."

"That would be because they are," Christine rocked the snake back and forth, as though she were cradling a child.

"Your snake really doesn't help."

"We will have to set up a variety of traps. I see no other option."

"That's what I was afraid of. But what about the larger birds? They've got predators mixed into the bunch, if we set traps, the eagles or whatnot might swoop in and eat them all."

"L.T.?"

"Lt. Bal-chatri. What's up?"

"I just overheard you and the Commander talking about trapping birds. I thought I could help out—my grandfather used to trap tons of birds back at home. I picked up a few things."

"All right. Then I'll hand this operation over to you—pick a team and get started. Do you need any materials?"

"We had a lot of specialized equipment."

"Then it will be necessary to improvise those tools. Engineer Toulouse."

"Sir?"

"Are you currently occupied?"

"I've got one project that's being finished up, but other than that, I'm free, sir."

"Then after your current project is finished, assist Lt. Bal-chatri in his efforts. You will be trapping birds."

"Cool. I'll be right back then."

"It might take a long time to get them all, sir."

"That's fine. Take as much time as you need. We'll let you know when to wrap things up."

--

"Chekov to Sulu."

"Sulu here. What's up?"

"It is getting crowded here. Our projections underestimated the space it would be taking."

"How much space is left in Holding Area 1?"

"Wery wery little. After we are beaming up the whale—Scotty is almost done with wiring—there will be almost no room."

"Damn. What if we added the storage closets to 2 and 3?"

"Hikaru, if the storage closets were enough, I would not be transmitting this message to you. I would be organizing cages and feeding yellow parakeets."

"Don't tell me you want to keep one."

"No. I am not wanting a parakeet. What kind of silly question is that?"

"Chris wants to keep a snake."

"Then let her keep a snake. I do not see the problem."

"It's a snake."

"..._da._"

"Poisonous, slithery, creepy thing."

"Hikaru, _ya tebya sovsem nye ponimayu_."

"What?"

"You are facing Romulans and killing Klingons and Gorn, but you do not like snakes."

"I was six years old! She stuck it in my shoes!"

"Maybe we can make some room in Sickbay?"

"I do not think that is advisable. Given the number of injuries, Dr. McCoy will need all the space for his patients."

"How much more are you needing to load?"

"A lot. We've still got a building to clear. The main center is done, but there's a smaller holding center for what looks like new arrivals."

"There is no chance that you will be leawing any of these animals on the planet."

"Nope."

"_Nu, davai_. I will be finding space then. We might haf to clear some crew quarters."

"If you do, clear one sector, closest to the main animal area."

"_Koneshno_."

"Thanks."

"It is no problem, keptan."

Sulu grinned widely.

"Right. Sulu out."


	182. Ch 182

I entered Jim's quarters.

"Long day?" he got up from his desk.

"The mission is progressing."

"Yeah, you had a long day. And you stink."

"I designed the decontamination procedure."

"You still stink. Go take a shower."

As I passed him to go to the fresher, Jim gave me a quick kiss.

After I was finished, I emerged from the fresher unclothed. I went to Jim's dresser to borrow some articles.

Jim had other ideas.

"I am not in the appropriate frame of mind to engage in sexual activities."

"Come on. We'll go slow. It'll be relaxing."

"I would like to meditate."

Jim looked at me.

"You're really tired, aren't you?"

"Working along with and supervising Sulu's mission has required a substantial amount of effort."

"I've turned us into parents, haven't I. Spock, we're too young to have kids."

"Agreed. It was your idea, captain, to do this."

"Don't push it off on me. They're your kids too."

He smiled, eyes glowing.

"Allow me to meditate for an hour, and then I will be more amenable to your suggestions."

"Sulu told me you melded with something?"

"Affirmative."

"How was it?"

I began dressing as I searched for the words.

"Spock?"

The entire mission, I had been clamping down on my telepathy as I came into contact with a hundred different species, some of them dazed, some furious and bewildered, others almost brain dead.

"It was difficult."

"Sorry," Jim's voice was quiet. "Spock, I—"

"I will be fine, Jim. I need some time."

"Want me to clear the quarters? I can go snag an empty conference room or something."

"No. Your presence is reassuring. I simply ask you make as little noise as possible."

"I can do that."

I nodded.

"Thank you."

--

My analogy concerning vector spaces and mind melds—while it is apt and still relevant, I find that the mathematical concept falls shorts of the actuality of the experience. Meeting another mind, another consciousness, in the intimate space of one's own thoughts and feelings, sharing yet incompletely immersed. Even the way in which I navigate the chaos of another mind is not through a consistent path or a method I learned on Vulcan. This may be one of the only disciplines in which I am guided by what Terrans call intuition. That intuition is honed by use and experience. Training sharpens awareness and allows one to notice things one might have formerly dismissed. In the end, however, it is still intuition, something that does not lie strictly within the bounds of logic.

Vulcans have sometimes been accused of having a stifling culture, one that does not allow for the expression of differences between individuals. This is true, to some extent. The fact that we strive to live based on the principles of logic implies that some behaviors and thoughts will never be articulated. Our education is completely standardized, and every child is expected to learn certain lessons both intellectually and emotionally. This is universally true. Every society has a certain body of knowledge they consider essential for the welfare and well-being of their citizens. However, few societies have homogenized it to the extent of Vulcans. I suspect that since the destruction of our planet, educating the youth with all that is canonically Vulcan has become that much more important.

Some may consider this not to be education, but indoctrination. When I was younger, even as I strove to mold myself to Vulcan standards, I considered these requirements as an attempt to restrict the bounds of my mind and control the content it produced. Some of the treatment that I received as a child certainly supports this point of view. However, there is another way of viewing Vulcan education, one that I had not given serious consideration until now.

The knowledge imparted to me can be thought of as an edict delivered by Vulcan society on the right and rational way to live, or it can be thought of as a tool by which I might find my own definition of what it means to be right and rational, and whether I desire to follow that course. The education I received equipped me with certain ways by which I might evaluate the world. Due to the fact that I am Vulcan, the emotional aspect was neglected and eschewed. However, the training I underwent in the disciplines of logic and scientific inquiry ultimately allowed me to reevaluate what I was taught. And I found that it was not logic that was problematic, but the starting assumptions. I have since begun to create my own axioms and write my own mathematics.

In light of this realization, I can no longer truly resent the education I received on Vulcan. Every society impresses on its members certain ideas, some of which have merit, and some of which do not. Whether Terran or Vulcan, there are inherent flaws in each system, just as there are means by which to question that system. This is ultimately the point from which individuality stems: the conscious choice to examine oneself and one's surroundings, the process one undergoes to evaluate everything one once believed. And through that exploration, building a new understanding of what it means to live, think, feel, act.

I do not know if every Vulcan and Terran goes through such a period. However, I am certain that my father underwent this course, perhaps multiple times. I am sure that other Vulcans have as well, for this individuality manifests itself particularly in telepathy. While it has been some time since I have had telepathic contact with another Vulcan, I recall the different styles of my instructors and am now beginning to appreciate the nuances in skill.

There are several means by which one may navigate a mind, and each method has its own advantages and disadvantages. Some are designed to locate a specific memory or information, others are meant to range over the mind in wide arcs. All of these techniques require that the initiator shield their mind, so as not to get lost in another or leave behind part of oneself. There is also a variety of shielding techniques. The two main philosophies of shielding among Vulcans arise from the principle of building defensive walls and blocking, or simply knowing oneself. It is the difference between demarcating a territory on a map or walking the breadth of the land and learning its distinctive features. Shielding purely by the latter form is rare—even the disciples at Gol have difficulty attaining that state. It is almost impossible to know oneself completely, as one constantly evolves throughout one's life.

In most cases, shielding is a combination of those two methods, and there seems to be a general relationship between them. It has been noted that those who have thick walls often have a poor sense of self-awareness, as though they need to contain themselves with borders to know where they begin and another ends. Children are taught to build walls, and the method is the easiest and simplest way that one can protect one's mind. The other form of defense comes with time and experience. Vulcans learn to cultivate the individual spaces in their minds, and it is a process for which there is no teaching, only guidance. Ultimately, only that individual is able to build an identity and their self.

There are several reasons why I am thinking on these topics of individuality, shielding, and mind melds. Jim, obviously. His mind is startling, a conglomeration of walls and sectors, a powerful center and an organization that speaks of a mind shattered and rebuilt, shattered and rebuilt. He has had no training in shielding, yet he has withstood several encounters with telepathic beings and emerged unscathed, intact. It speaks to the strength he carries within himself—a strength he seems to take for granted or is unaware of. I no longer have any doubts as to why I was drawn to him, and why others so willingly follow him. But there are cracks which he ignores. It worries me.

And this mission. My recent encounter with the nentoferaus. The disturbing reemergence of the Taxidermist. If I should encounter him again, and if there is some chance that he still has his machine, I believe I will be more able to face the hostile mass of minds. I have changed drastically since our first encounter. I have surety that I did not have before, a confidence created and a place found. I have my intuition, I have Jim.

Jim.

In all texts I have read that discuss love, they accurately describe the feelings of euphoria and the pure bliss of being in love, and having that love requited. They do not, however, adequately capture the extent to which one is transformed. Or how it is possible to totally give yourself up to one person and find that in doing so, you have completed yourself.

He is sitting at his desk, quietly working at his terminal.

Or perhaps not. He is smiling.

"Hey, you're done? Come here. This is hilarious."

It is a vid. Someone manipulated the conversation between Jim and Admiral Nogura—"autotuned and remixed, this is fucking genius"—and set it to clips of a popular serial.

Jim was laughing by the end.

"I fail to see the humor or the genius in this. Is this what you have been doing this entire time, Jim?"

"No. Mostly reports. I needed a break."

I gave him a look.

"Come here. We haven't had sex in how many hours?"

"92 hours 14 minutes and 50 seconds."

"I love it when you lie to me," he kissed me.

"It was not a lie, it was an approximation. And you have just contradicted yourself—you often admonish me to disclose the full truth."

"Human. Comes with the territory," he pulled his shirt off. "Bed. Or do you want to meld right now?"

I pushed Jim onto the bed.

"Meld later, then. Fine with me."


	183. Ch 183

falling and crashing and spinning towards into through electron degeneracy pressure disappearing neutrons forming multiplying and I cannot separate us back not this time I am remembering the nentoferaus and the double shadows on the ground the first meld I ever had with Jim the names and screaming the disjointed conviction and light burning streaming through darkness I can feel him being drawn deeper and deeper into my mind and electricity cracking through cells between stars light disappearing into black holes that cannot be seen only felt warping the sensation and space around us and I feel Jim resisting struggling physically his body is shuddering and sweating to _get away_ and I try once more to separate us despite our minds protesting frantically despite gravity drawing us closer to each other and then

like his hand grabbing mind an pulling his consciousness grabs with mine and wrenches us apart into the primordial darkness of our melds the salt sand crystalline desert meeting water lake ocean sky

I reshape the space into the place we always return in melds—New York. His mind feels safe there, and warm. Warm like my body wrapped around him to compensate for the lack of blankets safe like the unspoken promise of me standing at his side amazed at the unexpected kindness of a stranger Edith Keeler to aliens to time travelers her dedication to the homeless and her love shared by Jim for a city so vast and diverse free and indifferent but not alone never alone never alone because I am there on the train at two in the morning letting him use my leg as a pillow looking at him with love I did not realize with affection I did not know.

We are tangled up in sheets in our apartment (we are tangled up in sheets in Jim's quarters) and I carefully create a dual awareness one of the meld (the other of reality and whatever movements we make in bed) are reflected in this mindspace

That was intense.

I apologize. I had less control than I anticipated.

(he touches my face and) I feel it as his mind brushing kissing mine

It's okay. You're tired.

I meditated.

Are you really going to try and lie to me _here_? I know what you're thinking.

It was not meant as a lie. I should have had more control.

It's okay.

(his hand resting cool on my neck and I adjust my fingers on his psi point to)

Woah. That's kind of weird.

he shakes his head (he shakes his head)

I can see you twice

(his eyes are open seeing double and his brain) is trying to navigate what feels like contradiction like a lifelike dream or a dreamlike reality and the mixing of the space is strange and disquieting to him

"If I move my lips here" I can hear myself here. And you can "hear me too?"

It will take some time to become accustomed to this.

What else can you do? (hand travelling down my body curious about the double sensation of feeling it in reality and in a mindspace)

I can increase the degree of sensitivity of your hands and skin

(he gasps suddenly) desire spiking

I can prolong the length of time you feel something

(I touch him and kiss him careful to maintain the meld and he's already inhaling exhaling deeply) he feels me layering each touch kiss caress stretching out the time that his brain processes the information and it seems to him that my touch lingers everywhere that I am kissing him for hours milliseconds and (I tease each of his erogenous zones in sequence) and hold that sensation increasing the intensity in our subjective time (he arches into a thousand touches that are not there) and his pupils are blown out (his blue of his irises border the black) but his brain is still confused by the disparity between real sensation that ones I am inducing. I tone down the intensity so as not to completely overwhelm him

(his breathing evens out, I look at him smiling) and am completely amazed by the degree of trust he has in me.

What else can you do?

I can make your refractory period nonexistent, if you so desire.

Really?

I do not think it would be wise to do so often. However, if the occasion calls for it, yes.

"Does that mean—?" images of orgasms induced prolonged suppressed commanded

"It is possible. However, I will not do anything without your explicit consent—all telepathic species consider such acts on another's body a serious violation."

I trust you.

that trust amazes me

(blue eyes and lazy smile) already spinning off into different fantasies

I can teach you to induce the same reactions in me during the course of a meld.

a thousand fantasies forming at the possibility and anticipation desire to learn this new trick right now that is so fucking awesome

It will take time, Jim.

I know. No better time than now to learn.

desire between us

Would you like a demonstration?

laughter (his smile is wide and promising)

Go for it.

I pull back on the meld (remove my fingers from his psi points) New York disappears and all sensation reverts to its customary settings aligned to the space of Jim's quarters. I keep my telepathy tuned to Jim and retain my awareness on his reactions

"A demo on what?" he asks.

I spread his legs.

"The experience of having a nonexistent refractory period."

Before he can make any sort of clever remark, I begin my demonstration.

Jim was rather incoherent through all three.


	184. Ch 184

"I congratulate you, Lt. Sulu."

Sulu looked up from his terminal where he was writing his final report for the Ark mission. He shook his head.

"We didn't find the Taxidermist."

"You and security teams were able to round up a party of poachers. That is no small accomplishment."

"To be honest, I'm happier that unloading went as smoothly as it did. No injuries, to crew or the animals. No shuttle malfunctions, everything on schedule. Things never go this smoothly for the captain."

"Indeed. The caretakers at Napomazonin Reserve asked me to relay to you their thanks. They were particularly impressed by the condition and level of care provided for the animals, given our limited resources and staff. You allocated the skill sets of the crew excellently."

"I couldn't have done it without you, Commander."

"Is Ensign Fydic recovering?"

"Some burns and her ankle is messed up—those traps they use for animal pelts are ugly—but Doc says she'll be fine in a few shifts. I'm recommending a promotion for her. She is one _good _tracker. We'd've been walking in the woods in circles if she didn't set us straight."

"The captain and I will take it into consideration."

"Thanks."

I sat down to another terminal and began to input my own report.

"Commander, did you get to see the tantalo? Is she okay?"

"As I understand, the rapid change in environment has caused a degree of stress and confusion, but that is to be expected. There is a small population of tantalo, and the staff here hope to integrate her into the herd. It will take time, of course."

"This place is pretty amazing. The labs are top notch, and they do some amazing things with veterinary science here."

"We certainly risk losing some of our zoologists on board. They are enamored of everything they see."

"It's a great opportunity for them. Did you give them permission to beam down and meet with some of the scientists here?"

"Of course. I believe half the science department were the first in line to transport down to the surface of the planet."

Sulu grinned.

"I asked Jim if we could give the crew some time to explore."

"Nyota was able to negotiate with the director of Napomazonin. He has offered to give the crew tours of certain regions as well as a series of lectures."

"That's awesome. Yeah, one of their scientists let me visit with some of their rehabilitated animals that're friendlier to humanoids—we kept our distance, obviously, but it was great to see them like that, wild and free."

I remembered the nentoferaus.

"It's a completely different kind of First Contact."

"It is a welcome break and a unique opportunity. From what I understand, Pavel registered for a trip to the eastern pole of the planet."

"He wants to see snow and the kcapheg packs—they're supposed to be like a cross between Earth's wolves and polar bears," Sulu nodded. "He misses Russia. There's apparently a lot of old stories about wolf packs roaming the Siberian plains."

"Nyota is taking this opportunity to visit the savanna regions."

"I thought she was still in Sickbay."

"Leonard cleared her for this trip, stating that it would benefit her psychologically and therefore aid her healing process. Christine went with her to ensure that nothing goes amiss."

"And Scotty?"

"Yes. Scotty has taken to referring to the trip as a safari."

"I hope Chris or Yota packed the sun tan lotion."

"She told me that he has acquired a mesh safari hat for himself. Nyota found his appearance endearing."

Sulu laughed.

"I think stuff like this reminds them why they decided to join Starfleet to begin with. Did Jim go anywhere?"

"He and Leonard have decided to visit a region that resembles the Great Plains region of the North American continent. After you are finished, I suggest that you also visit the planet. I am sure the tantalo will remember you."

"You think so?"

"You were likely the first the show her kindness in a bewildering place. I am uncertain if she will trust you, but animals have a unique sense of memory. She will remember you."

A pause.

"I kind of wish she wouldn't remember me. Or anything that happened to her. I don't know. Grilling those poachers for info on the Taxidermist, I wanted to punch them."

"Clarification? I do not see the connection between the tantalo and your experience questioning the poachers."

"It was _clear_ they didn't _see_. You know. If they saw her, they'd think of her as an old beat up nag, move on for something that would bring in better profit."

There was a quiet force behind Sulu's words, something usually absent from his easygoing demeanor.

"Pasha told me something—I was getting frustrated about the mission. He said his brother told him this before he left for space. I don't know if I'm quoting this right, but it went something like this: 'In order to see, you must look. In order to look, you must take time. But there's never enough time, so you must make it. And that's where people fail.'"

Pavel Andreyevich Chekov is not seventeen.

"My sister's almost blind, but I think she'd say the same thing, or something close."

Silence.

"The tantalo is currently undergoing treatment in Reserve 38. It is not necessary to finish your mission report immediately."

Sulu looked me, then smiled. He rose from his terminal.

"Thanks Spock."

I nodded.

Both Nyota and Sulu will make excellent starship captains someday.


	185. Ch 185

The second year of our time exploring deep space comes to a close. I find it difficult to believe that this arbitrary unit of time, determined by the orbit of the planet Terra around Sol, has passed once more. If one speaks of technicalities, Jim and I have experienced more than the standard Terran year, as he and I spent several months in New York City searching for Edith Keeler.

I find it difficult to reflect on all the changes that have taken place.

Jim has allowed the crew to organize the talent show again, and he has volunteered us as emcees. Apparently there was no real option, as it has already been declared an _Enterprise_ tradition. The veterans of the ship are looking forward to this event with relish, and Nyota reported that there was a significant increase in the number of auditions, to the extent that some acts could not be included or the show would be interminable. Jim is as enthusiastic about the prospect of emceeing as the last time, and I am still somewhat reluctant.

All recordings of the event have been strictly prohibited. I have no doubt that Jim will make several jokes of a dubious nature alluding to our relationship and I have no desire for such recordings to be available to the entire Alpha Quadrant, least of all the Admiralty. Whatever changes are being made to the bureaucracy, there is no need to give them material to which they might possibly object or use.

There is also a 74.3% chance that I will respond to Jim's jokes with comments that cannot strictly be considered appropriate for a Vulcan who follows every tenet of Surak. T'Pau might have an aneurysm, if she were to come across such material. It would be irresponsible of me to cause the premature death of an individual who has been instrumental in rebuilding our civilization on the colony. That is, of course, secondary to fact that she is a member of the High Council and the head of my father's house.

I am uncertain as to how to inform my father of my relationship with Jim. I am certain that Jim is the only individual with whom I desire a bond. The source of my unease with respect to my father is unknown, as there can be no logical objection against our union. Indeed, there are many reasons why our bonding would be advantageous to both myself and Jim, especially taking into account the unpredictable nature of my biology. I do not know when or if I will experience pon farr in the future. If I were fully Vulcan, I should have already gone through my first cycle. M'Benga regularly sends the results of my physicals to the surviving scientists of the Vulcan Science Academy who engineered my conception. However, between the efforts that must be put forth for the sake of the colony and the fact that much of data pertaining to my biology was lost in the singularity, little can be done besides monitor my condition. A bond with Jim would eliminate the risk of death.

Nevertheless, I am reluctant to inform my father on the matter. It is likely this anxiety stems from the years I believed he found me lacking in some aspect. It is also likely that he has already heard the rumors of our relationship.

--

"Indeed, I have been informed of the rumors regarding you and Captain Kirk."

I waited for him to continue. He did not.

"Is that all you desired to ask me, Spock?"

There was a glint in his eye. My father was purposely being obtuse. I do not know when this development too place, but it seems that he has developed a sense of humor. The fact that at this precise moment, his amusement comes at my expense somewhat diminishes the pleasure of that revelation.

I gathered my resolve and looked at him directly.

"I desired to inform you that Captain Kirk and I have been in a relationship for what is now an extended period of time" —I have had difficulty determining where exactly our relationship began— "and it is likely that we will bond in the future."

My father nodded.

"I welcome the news."

I resisted the urge to change the transmission resolution on the terminal. My father never smiles.

"It would not have been unappreciated if you had informed me of this earlier. It was somewhat disappointing to learn of this possibility while I was at a press conference. I would not have objected to hearing of this from you."

I was at a loss for what to say.

"I could not avoid making some form of an official statement."

I could not contain my curiosity.

"Official statement?"

"Yes."

He did not continue. I believe he is enjoying this.

"What were the contents of your statement?"

"That I hold Captain Kirk in high esteem and would welcome him as a member of my house."

I did not respond as Jim would have reacted. My jaw did not drop to the floor. Though my eyebrows may have disappeared above my hairline.

"T'Pau concurred, though she used weaker words."

My mouth may have gone slack.

And somehow, the expression on my father's face softened.

"Is it truly so unexpected, my son? I understand that you have not been able to follow the developments of our colony, but the destruction of Vulcan has wrought deep changes in us all. It has brought forward painful questions about our traditions and practices. Surely you have also felt this."

Felt. My father used the word felt. I cannot remember a time he used that verb without my perceiving some negative connotation.

"I have felt it," I answered.

It is manifested in what I have with Jim and our crew.

My father looked at me.

"And you have found your path. For that, I am profoundly grateful."

There was no reason that I should not have expected this reception from my father to the confirmation of the rumors of my relationship. Even so, I am uncertain that it is possible for me to be more shocked than I was.

Evidently the magnitude of my surprise was written on my face.

"I must cut this transmission short," he said quietly.

"Of course."

Neither of us made a move to terminate the connection.

"Spock, may I make a request?"

I waited.

"Increasing the frequency of your transmissions, whenever possible, would not be unwelcome."

"I will take your request into consideration."

My father nodded.

"That is all I ask." He held up the ta'al. "Sochya eh ashaya-tor."

"Dif-tor heh smusma."

--

Sochya eh ashaya-tor.

My father wished me peace and long love.

I once speculated that my alternate self found his place in Vulcan society with assistance from his Captain Kirk. At the time, it never occurred to me that this place might be _with_ Captain James T. Kirk, at his side and in his mind. I never thought that I would see Jim in this light, that he would come to rely on me for everything. That I would be willing to give it.

Two years. Over the course of two years, I find everything around me changed. Is it the fact that I have changed? That my observations and the way I see the world went through a metamorphosis? Yet it is undeniable that others have changed also, and I do not speak only of those aboard the _Enterprise_. My father seems almost unrecognizable.

Three more years remain in this mission and I can no longer pretend to predict with any accuracy where this next year might take us. Everyone on this ship has changed in ways that seem, through the advantage of hindsight, to be inevitable and necessary. As though there was no other way for events to take place, no other reactions the crew could have had. No other possibility after Jim learned the truth of my deception, no other outcome to our confrontation with the Doomsday Machine, theories of quantum wave functions notwithstanding, theories of psychology disregarded.

Yet my alternate self exists in my timeline, standing as counterexample to my claim.

I have had less contact with him than I have with my father. He encouraged me to remain on the _Enterprise_—his role in the events of the _Narada_ were central—and in that way, changed my life profoundly. But of all the impressions that remain of our brief meeting, the strongest is this: he regrets.

Age and experience made him comfortable with his emotions, but I know my face and I know my voice. That first and last time we spoke, he regretted something deeply. I find myself asking what he lived through and what he saw, that his shoulders were sloped and his eyes spoke of muted grief. We were all attempting to recover from the shock of losing Vulcan. However, that was not all he carried with him. It is clear he saw in me opportunities he would have liked to take once more. Possibilities of another outcome, searching for something that—can he ever find it in this universe, in this timeline?

We are different people, he and I. We may be constructed from the same genetic material and prone to similar veins of thought, but we are not the same. Our universes share strange commonalities, but he is separate from me, built by another set of circumstances.

Sochya eh ashaya-tor.

He regrets.

I will not.

As long as Jim and I are alive and together, we can face anything in this universe, survive any circumstance, endure any situation. We will cross whatever bridges we have to cross to return to each other and the _Enterprise_. Whatever price I must pay to live and be with him, I will pay it without hesitation and without regret.

That is my promise.

Although.

It may be prudent for me to reserve the right to revise that statement if I find myself in a conversation with my father, attempting to explain why I believed a particular repartee to Captain Kirk's engaging banter would not induce an aneurysm in T'Pau.

My father and T'Pau have changed, but I do not believe them to have changed that much.


	186. Ch 186

_caught in a bad romance_

afterparty rec room dark and sweat and pulsing with music from the speakers

_caught in a bad romance_

a woman's voice singing and I am behind Jim grinding

_want your bad romance_

everyone around us locked in embraces exploding with motion and sex and

_want your bad romance_

the simultaneous relief of another year over forgetting whatever pain and terror inflicted the only thought the only emotion—let's party hard

_I want your ugly, I want your disease / I want your everything as long as it's free I want your love_

my hands gripping the muscles of his thighs his eyes closed my lips on the back of his neck our bodies flush and tight together

_love love love I want your love_

darkness and shadows of people and I find myself whispering in his ear

_I want your drama, the touch of your hand / I want your leather-studded kiss in the sand I want your love_

that I want him gasping the things I want to do to him the ways I want to bite and suck and lick the way I want to bring him to ecstasy over and over

_love love love I want your love_

he reaches back and runs his fingers through my hair leans into me and twists his body just so

_you know that I want you_

to make me exhale wet and hot on his skin

_and you know that I need you_

has me holding him possessively hand going up to his throat

_I want it bad, your bad romance_

Spock

_I want your love and I want your revenge / you and me could write a bad romance_

fantasized about it the dark look on my face him using every trick he knew to resist and keep breathing

_I want your love and all your lovers' revenge / you and me could write a bad romance_

he's whispering something obscene through his skin through our touch images of swollen mouths and bruised hips

_caught in a bad romance_

bed

_caught in a bad romance_

we are going to bed

_want your bad romance_

clothes off he is naked under me and I pin his hands above his head, kiss him long and tortuous

_I want your horror, I want your design  
cause you're a criminal as long as you're mine  
I want your love  
love love love I want your love_

_I want your psycho, your vertigo stick  
want you in my rear window baby you're sick  
I want your love  
love love love I want your love_

_you know that I want you_

aching

_and you know that I need you_

wanting

_I want it bad_

coming

_your bad romance_

climax

_I want your love and I want your revenge_

he utterly spent and satisfied

_you and me could write a bad romance_

I hold him close to me as he drifts off to sleep

_I want your love and all your lovers' revenge_

put my fingers to his face and feel the dark comfort of his mind

_you and me could write a bad romance_

but buried deep are the cluster of neutron stars

_caught in a bad romance_

a year ago, perhaps more, I suppressed the fire inside me and it almost burned me alive

_caught in a bad romance_

these memories of Jim's, whatever they are, are old and he thinks them long forgotten

_want your bad romance_

they are not. far from it—

_walk walk fashion baby work it move that bitch crazy_

his emotions remember everything too well, too vividly

_walk walk fashion baby work it move that bitch crazy_

every injury, every mission, an experience in repeated trauma

_walk walk fashion baby work it move that bitch crazy_

nightmares fear loneliness terror suppressed locked away

_walk walk passion baby work it_

he trusts me in so many ways

_I'm a free bitch baby_

is this where he draws the line?

_I want your love and I want your revenge / I want your love I don't wanna be friends_

no. he has never pushed me out. these are my fears. he is not alone, has not been alone for a long time. whatever the monsters of his past, they cannot harm him

_Je veux ton amour et je veux ta ravanche / Je veux ton amour I don't wanna be friends_

I will not let them. and whatever weight he has carried out of habit can be forgotten. he does not need to use those coping methods any longer

_I don't wanna be friends_

captain brother lover

_I don't wanna be friends / want your bad romance_

kin and confident, shield bearer and suppliant

_want your bad romance!_

t'hy'la

_I want your love and I want your revenge / you and me could write a bad romance_

to share in terror and treason, to look at his fears and fractures

_I want your love and all your lovers' revenge / you and me could write a bad romance_

because he has a dark side, as all people do, and he has used it before to survive at any cost. he knows exactly what he is capable of

_want your bad romance caught in a bad romance_

if I will have him, if I'm to bond with him, we will know each other. perhaps fail each other

_want your bad romance_

but know each other

_want your bad romance_

neutron stars lightless in the dark

_caught in a bad romance_

if he will let me


	187. Ch 187

The Sickbay doors slid open. Dr. McCoy sat at his desk. Nurse Chapel was in another corner conducting a routine checkup with a patient. I approached Leonard, then realized belatedly that he had a transmission. He looked up and motioned for me to stay.

Leonard rubbed his forehead, his expression weary.

"Ma'am, I had to make a decision. I made that decision—I decided to risk it and operate on your daughter using an experimental procedure. That's the only thing that saved her life."

"I understand that, doctor, but do you understand my situation?" a female voice came through on the terminal. "My daughter can't speak. She's paralyzed irreparably from the chest down. My husband and I have spent everything for all the pills, the rehab sessions, the endless follow up operations, trying to give her back a sense of normalcy and life after everything she's been through. Do you know how expensive that is? We don't have any money left, and the bills keep adding up."

"I thought Starfleet would take care of—"

"Starfleet," she hissed. "Don't talk to me about Starfleet. We thought that Starfleet would take care of her. They were supposed to, after she gave life and limb in service for them. We thought we'd get outpatient care and everything. What do we get instead? A check for compensation that doesn't even begin to cover all our expenses."

"I don't understand. Health insurance should've covered the bills for her meds and the physical therapy."

"Starfleet is drowning in claims and the wounded recovering from the _Narada_. Have you been following the news at all?"

"Ms. Alvarado means to say that ever since Starfleet has moved to make its bureaucracy and internal goings-on more transparent, details surrounding their budget have been appearing. They've cut back on planetside patient care services and facilities because the first priority is to replace the ships lost in the _Narada_ event and rebuild the fleet. There's not nearly enough credits to go around to all the wounded, never mind the families of the dead. Everywhere, claims've been held up in red tape."

"A stall tactic."

"Exactly. There simply aren't enough resources to go around. Not only that, the consequences of losing of Vulcan's economy and their contribution to the fleet are being felt right now. It took a while to trickle down—economists have been surprised it took this long to hit, but boy is it making waves. Our military's spread thinner than margarine scraped on bread."

"Look, I don't know what to tell y'all. I don't have any credits to spare—everything that I make goes towards child support back on Earth. I'll be happy to show you my files and bank accounts, but my wife took the whole planet in the divorce. I've got next to nothing. I'm sorry that's the situation, but taking me to court for malpractice won't get you anything."

"Yes, we found out exactly how closeted the medical community is," Ms. Alvarado replied bitterly.

"Pardon?"

"When Ms. Alvarado and her husband approached us, the firm tried to find a doctor who would be willing to testify against you to corroborate the malpractice claim. No one was willing to come forward, especially since the procedure you used was extremely experimental and has a high margin of error. Most agreed that Lt. Alvarado would have died without the operation. There is also the fact that your name is somewhat legendary in medical circles. No one wanted to go against your reputation."

Leonard's eyebrows steadily went up as he listened to Mr. Vejjajiva speak.

"We've tried every avenue, racked our brains for any solution. I can't tell you how many times I've stared at the Starfleet 'hold' screen, blocked in the middle of my calls. We've filed all the papers, we sold our car to get _something_. My health insurance, my husband's health insurance have no loopholes that we could sneak. Everything is coming out of our pockets and we don't know what to do, doctor. Our retirement money—gone. The bank's evaluating our request to borrow against the house.

"Starfleet promised that if anything happened to our little girl, they would take care of her. What happened to that promise?" Ms. Alvarado whispered. "What happened to that promise?"

Leonard sighed, shaking his head.

"I don't know how to help y'all. If I could help you in any way, I'd do it. It's nothing personal, I just—I've got my own family to look after, a child to support. And I need to cut this transmission off soon."

"I have my own family to look after, doctor, and my child is more dependent on me that she ever was as a toddler."

"We will be in contact with you in the future, unless you can provide me with the information of your lawyer to conduct negotiations."

"You plan on going through with this suit? I thought you said you didn't have anything to build a case against me."

"We believe we have a case."

Silence.

"Look, I don't have the information on me right now, but I'll send it to you. Give me your nets address or transmission channel."

"I can be reached at this frequency. Thank you for your time, doctor."

Dr. McCoy jabbed at the terminal, shutting down the transmission.

"Damn it all to hell!"

I raised an eyebrow.

"It aint my fault that those folks're in that mess. I'm sorry that it happened and by God I wish I could help, but I can't do anything about it! Now I'm gonna get dragged into this lawsuit nonsense, get tangled up with lawyers and their goddamn negotiations again, after I swore I'd never set foot in court or have any dealings with their kind," Leonard pulled out a bottle of whiskey and poured a glass. He drained it. "They make _you_ look bad, pointy-eared bastard.

"And what the hell does Starfleet do about all this? Drags its goddamn feet! Helluva a system they've got going down there, I'll give them that," he poured another glass, then put the whiskey away. "That girl was lucky to get out of that mess alive at all. I did my job, I did my best, I wasn't goddamn negligent, and they want to sic a lawsuit on me? I've got a _kid_, for God's sakes!"

"It is an unfortunate situation."

Leonard snorted.

"Sometimes, I swear you've got the blackest sense of humor out of all of us. 'Unfortunate situation,'" he took a sip of the whiskey. "Damn Starfleet red tape."

"Doctor, Starfleet is not entirely to blame. The Federation and Starfleet's resources are limited, and though you may personally disagree with their decision to focus most of the budget on rebuilding the fleet, it is necessary. The loss of Vulcan, a founding member of the Federation, has greatly affected the position of the Federation and shifted the balance of power in the Alpha Quadrant. We do not feel these effects particularly keenly on board the _Enterprise_, but it has been a matter of concern for the civilian populace."

"Spock, I'm not up for a round of political debate with y'all right now."

"You are looking for someone to blame, or something to hold accountable."

"Sorry, it's one of my _human_ tendencies."

"I do not believe that is the case. Other Terrans would agree with my line of reasoning and accept it. You feel particularly strongly about this issue because it concerns lives and your own profession. It upsets you to think of those who suffer similarly, those who are stuck in these 'unfortunate situations.'"

"I never thought I'd see the day when you took up psychoanalysis. So what're you going to say next? That I should accept it too, stop getting so illogically riled up about it?"

"Far be it from me to dictate how you should feel, doctor."

Leonard laughed, the sound like a bark. He took another sip of his drink.

"I do not think that your thoughts or sentiments concerning this matter are wrong. In some ways, they are necessary to balance out those who view these 'unfortunate situations' as a disagreeable but unavoidable consequence of certain realities. No matter the system or society, there will always be those who fall between the cracks, there will always be imperfections. Thus, these 'unfortunate' costs are natural and when viewed in the abstract, acceptable. One strives to minimize such costs, but they must occur."

"Just because something's inevitable doesn't mean you should lay your arms down and let it happen. There're plenty of intolerable things in the world and I gotta deal with them because it's the goddamn reality. That doesn't mean I have to like them."

Leonard stared into his drink, shoulders slightly hunched.

"You have always provided a counterweight and challenged both my opinions and the captain's decisions. You have no qualms in doing this. In fact, we may depend on you to be extremely vocal if you feel that anything we are doing does not take personal cost into account."

"Like a crazy system of checks and balances," Leonard looked up at me, smile at the corners of his lips. "With Jim the executive, you judicial, and me the old fashioned town hall hollering legislature."

"The analogy does not quite fit."

"It fits well enough. Don't need to get yourself all strung out on nitpicky details."

I raised an eyebrow.

Leonard grinned. He clapped me on my shoulder.

"Well I'll be damned."

He raised his glass to me and finished his drink.

"Know any good lawyers to cover my back in this malpractice suit?"

"I believe Lt. Shaw would be better able to assist you. She likely is acquainted with several individuals in that specific field of her profession."

"You'll have to introduce me. How's married life with Jim?"

I tilted my head.

"We have yet to discuss that topic in detail and consider all its implications."

"Just invite me to the ceremony, that's all I want. I'll embarrass the hell outta you and Jim at the reception. That's a promise."

I nodded.

"Are you smiling?"

"I did no such thing."

"Damn," Leonard grinned. "Damn you green blooded hobgoblin, you lucky sonuvabitch. You lucky sonuvabitch."


	188. Ch 188

"Deep Space Station K7 now within sensor range, keptan."

"Great. This mission is going to be awesome. I've always wanted to go to K7. How close will we be to the Klingon outpost?"

"One parsec, captain" Sulu turned around in his chair.

"Close enough to smell them," Chekov added.

"That is illogical, lieutenant. Odors cannot travel through the vacuum of space."

"I was making a little joke, sir."

"Extremely little, lieutenant."

"But it _is_ a joke to call any of these stations military outposts," Sulu replied. "They're more like pleasure resorts or something."

"Technicalities," Jim smirked. "They've got a base commander and security personnel."

"Who double as bodyguards for the casino owners. I hear those guys make millions of credits a year."

"The bodyguards or the casino owners?"

"The bodyguards, Pash, though I've got no clue why. No one knows how much the moguls net."

"Sign me up."

Jim was altogether too enthusiastic about that prospect. I gave him a look.

"Come on, Spock. Whoever wrote the treaties to set this up was a genius."

"The treaties between all parties were mediated by an enterprising Betazoid by the name of Bugsy Lansky."

"That is a wery strange name for a Betazoid."

"I believe it was not his name given at birth. In any case, during the Kloth-Apari diplomatic crisis between the Federation and the Klingon Empire, it was Mr. Lansky's idea to resolve the conflict by creating a space dedicated exclusively to gambling and other forms of entertainment in this region. Since the signing of the treaty, this sector of space has become famous—"

"You mean infamous," Sulu said.

"—for its status as a theoretically neutral, legally recognized center of adult amusement."

"Don't make a face like it's illogical, Spock. I wish I'd thought of that for some of our diplomatic missions."

"Captain, we are on the border between Federation and Klingon space. It is illogical to establish casinos in such an unstable area, especially when one considers the immediate past history of this quadrant and the proximity to Sherman's planet."

"It'll be fine. We're gonna have a blast."

"Investigations by Starfleet Intelligence indicate that a high volume of sensitive and classified information passes hands in this sector on a regular basis. Espionage, whether by government agents or mercenaries, is a real concern. As the _Enterprise _is both a product and a carrier of Federation research and technology, we must evaluate and if necessary, improve the ship's security measures."

"Spock."

"Captain."

"You're taking this way too seriously. Everyone goes to K7 to get drunk and have fun. They're not going to sneak onto the _Enterprise_ and try to hijack it or something."

"Captain, while K7 is a popular location for tourists of all species, you should not treat our mission as an impromptu shore leave."

"Did you read the mission brief Number One sent?"

"Affirmative."

"Chekov, did you read the mission brief?"

"Aye, sir."

"Then tell me what it said."

"We haf been inwited to play in a wery high stakes poker tournament, hosted by the Casino Collectif."

"A high stakes poker game, Spock. Our mission is to win a poker game."

"Captain—"

"Lt. Chekov, what's in it for the winner?"

"Undisputed ownership of Sherman's planet."

Jim gave me a look. I turned to Sulu.

"Lt. Sulu, please name the other delegations that have been invited to this poker game at K7."

"The Klingons. There were rumors that the Orions weren't invited, but the Syndicate bought in for some ridiculous amount. No telepathic species, obviously, but they somehow got Organians to referee the match to make sure everything's clean. And others at the table are the filthy rich and professionals."

I looked at the captain.

"Spock, I know that the Klingons are going to be there. But there's going to be really tight security at the base, since it's not in the interest of the casino owners to have this situation blow up in their face. They're doing it as a giant publicity stunt to attract more tourists—business has been slow for everyone since the _Narada_."

"The Federation does not consider undisputed ownership of Sherman's planet as a publicity stunt, captain. We cannot be certain that the security provided will meet our standards."

"Tell you what. You do whatever you want with security, since it'll make you happier."

"My happiness is unrelated to the relative security of the _Enterprise_."

"And I'll go prepare for the mission. Chekov, Sulu, come with me. Spock, you have the conn."

Sulu and Chekov called for their relief while Jim walked to the turbolift.

"If I may ask, captain, what are you going to do to prepare for this mission?"

Jim smiled.

"Play poker."

He stepped into the lift. Sulu and Chekov joined him.

"I thought that was obvious."

* * *

"Do you have a tux?"

"Pardon?"

"A tuxedo. Do you have a tuxedo?"

"Negative. Jim and I were planning on wearing our dress uniforms."

"God no," Nyota grimaced. "Not there, Spock. This is K7. We'll have to get both of you fitted," she frowned. "I think we'll have to get all of you fitted."

"All?"

"You, Jim, Scotty, Leonard, Sulu, Pavel. Chris and I are going shopping for evening gowns later. You'll have to come with us."

"I do not understand why my dress uniform is unsuitable for this occasion."

"It just isn't."

"I see. This is another arbitrary rule of fashion."

"It's not arbitrary, Spock. The way you dress has to be appropriate to the mood and environment of the event and location. K7 is about glamour, money, beautiful people looking elegant holding glasses of bubbling champagne. Dress uniforms don't communicate that. Tuxedos do."

"The message attached to the form of dress is still arbitrary. There is no reason that my dress uniform cannot communicate that same message, it is only that fashion designers have not chosen to make that association."

"You just don't want to go shopping with me."

"The security measures on the ship are not yet up to the necessary standard."

"You can make all the excuses you want, Spock. I'm still going to take you to get fitted for a tux."

I looked at Nyota. She looked back, gaze even and uncompromising.

I was suddenly gratified to be in a relationship with Jim. He can be persuaded off a course of action much more easily.

"Compensation is necessary."

Nyota raised an eyebrow.

"You can thank me when Jim can't keep his hands off you."

* * *

"Captain, there's a transmission for you. It's Lurry, the K7 station manager."

"Really, he has a title?"

"He also owns the hotel where the game's being hosted."

"Good to know. Put him on the screen, Uhura."

A corpulent man dressed in a suit wearing a pin with the Starfleet insignia appeared on the screen.

"Captain Kirk!" he boomed. "A pleasure to finally talk to you face to face! Great to see the hero of the Federation! And I see Commander Spock—an honor, sir."

Jim had his facial expression strictly under control, though I could see that he was genuinely amused by the personality before him.

"Mr. Lurry, what can I do for you?"

"I wanted to personally welcome you to K7. Starfleet notified me that you'll be here in a few hours."

"It will be three point four nine seven hours before we reach K7," I answered.

Jim almost rolled his eyes at my statement.

"Fine, fine. I've got the best suites held especially for you and your crew—I'm looking forward to watching you playing in our tournament, captain. Business has never been better."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Lurry. We're all looking forward to relaxing a bit at K7."

"May I ask what security measures are being implemented at your establishment?"

"Only the best, Commander Spock. I personally guarantee it. All my security people came with the highest recommendations and I've gone through the background checks myself! Nothing's going to happen—we're all getting together for a good time, some fine wine, and honest nights of poker!"

"What of orbital security, transporter pads and shuttle docks?"

Mr. Lurry laughed, the flesh on his face moving with him.

"You are very thorough Mr. Spock. I'll send over the channel number of my head of security and she'll answer all your questions. But I don't think anything will happen. This is K7!"

I raised an eyebrow. Jim surreptitiously kicked me.

"I've got a question for you, Mr. Lurry. I'm planning on giving my crew some general leave—is there anything you can do about accommodations?"

"Of course, of course! The rooms of our main hotel are all full, but I'm sure I can arrange something with our partners. It would be at a reduced fee—"

"As long as it doesn't clean out their credit accounts."

"Isn't that what everyone comes to K7 for, Captain Kirk?" Mr. Lurry smiled. "I'll be more than happy to make a special deal for your crew. How many people plan on coming?"

"My communications officer will forward you the rosters, if that's all right with you."

"Perfect. I guarantee you, it'll be a vacation they'll never forget."

Jim winced slightly at Mr. Lurry's particular phrasing. We have certainly have memorable shore leaves that shared more similarities with nightmares than vacations. He quickly covered his reaction.

"No doubt about it. I've always wanted to visit K7."

"Excellent! Ah, I forgot to ask, Captain Kirk, Commander Spock. Will you need one room, or two?"

Jim's answer was immediate.

"My core command are accompanying me down. We'd like five or six rooms, whatever you can manage, for the eight of us."

If I were more impulsive, I would kiss him. It would be highly inappropriate.

"Of course," Mr. Lurry seemed slightly disappointed, but smiled widely. "All our suites are the best K7 has to offer. But if you find anything you don't like, I'll fix it right up. It's always a pleasure to offer hospitality to Starfleet's finest."

"Thanks. I'm sure everything'll be great."

"One more request, Mr. Lurry," I stepped forward. "When will the parties from Klingon and Orion arrive?"

"They're already here, Commander Spock. We're all waiting on you."

"Thank you."

"All right. We'll see you in a few hours, Mr. Lurry."

"Captain Kirk—you don't mind if there's a small press conference for your arrival?"

Jim looked at Nyota, who had a dubious expression on her face. She shook her head.

"How small?"

* * *

"Captain Kirk, are you planning on playing in the game yourself!"

Shouted questions.

"Commander Spock, what do you think of T'Pau's recent statements from the Vulcan High Council!"

"Captain Kirk, what's your opinion on Lurry's decision to let the Orions into the game!"

"Captain Kirk, are you and your First Officer romantically involved!"

"Commander Spock, isn't this the second time you've gotten into a relationship with another member of Starfleet!"

"Captain Kirk, tell us something about facing off the Doomsday Machine!"

Cameras and recording device went off simultaneously. Jim and I were still on the transporter pad, greeted by a crush of reporters. The only thing preventing the crowd from rushing forward was a row of bulky security personnel.

"Commander Spock, do you have any thoughts about the latest reforms being pushed through Starfleet!"

"Captain Kirk, what's the game plan to win Sherman's Planet!"

"Commander Spock, what're the chances that the Klingons'll win!"

"Captain Kirk, how've you prepared for this game!"

"Woah, woah," Jim held up his hands to signal silence. "One question at a time. The Commander and I will answer ten questions—don't bother asking questions about our relationship. We're here on Starfleet business. Okay, you in the purple."

"This one's for you, captain. Are you personally going to play in the game?"

"Nope. I'm not bad at poker, but I'm not the best the _Enterprise_ has to offer."

"Who's going up against the Klingons?"

"You'll have to wait and see. Next question—hey, yeah. Andorian with the leather vest."

"This is for you and the Commander—are you dating? How's Starfleet taking that? We all saw the exchange between you, Captain Kirk, and Nogura."

"Captain Kirk and I are not answering any questions concerning the nature of our relationship."

"Oh, come on, Commander! Just a yes or no!"

The crowd seemed to agree. Photographers stood poised with their devices. Flash bulbs went off periodically.

To my side, I could feel Jim buzzing with the desire to do something extremely impetuous. The back of his hand brushed against mine.

Fuck it. Let's do it.

Jim, if you execute your plan, I will make certain that you regret doing so.

What, regret as in no sex?

Among other things.

Among other things? What other things? Do you always have to sound so ominous?

I find it is an effective method of persuasion.

Jim gave me a look. I returned it.

The entire scene before us seemed to ignite with flashing white lights as cameras went off simultaneously. What they were photographing was beyond me. Reporters madly tapped words into their datapads.

It seems they found an answer despite the fact that we did not say anything at all. Jim grinned as though he had won something.

I turned my attention back to the reporters, determined to exert a greater degree of control over my facial expressions.

"Next question."

* * *

"What did we say?"

"The question is more like what _didn't_ you say? There's pictures all over the nets of your hands touching—they know Vulcans are touch telepaths, Spock. And then there's the look."

Jim looked over Nyota's shoulder to read one of the many entries posted on the nets. He began to read aloud.

"'The air was cracking with sexual tension'," he smiled at me, "'as Commander Spock gave Captain Kirk a dark look—we can only imagine what was being _communicated_ between the two, only that it must have been _hot_. Kirk gave a downright _dirty_ smile'—really? Huh. I didn't know that—'while the Vulcan First Officer adopted a completely neutral expression for the rest of the interview.' Spock, you gave away more than anything I could've done."

"That is apparent."

"Technically, you guys didn't say anything. So nothing's been confirmed or denied."

"Woah," Jim's eyes widened. "The Andorian makes it sounds like we're having mind sex or something right there in front of them. Hope he's wasn't one of the telepathic ones."

"If he were, he would know the true nature of our communication."

"He was probably majorly disappointed and decided to play it up."

"Well, the pictures really don't help your case."

"Nyota. We're _looking_ at each other."

"Like you want to devour each other. You were thinking about sex, weren't you."

"No! We were arguing!"

"About sex. It's written all over your faces."

"Wonder what they would've said if I actually made out with you."

"Have a field day, no doubt. The Admiralty would have an aneurysm. You're not supposed to be celebrities."

"Everyone has some idea what we're supposed to be or not be," he rolled his eyes.

"Jim, I suggest that we ignore the material posted on the nets. It has no bearing on us."

"I don't have a problem with it. It's hilarious. Are you okay, though?"

"I will simply take more precautions in the future."

"How? By never looking at me?"

"I was considering that possibility."

"What?!"

"Jim, he's joking."

"You never know with Spock."

Nyota smiled.

"How do you guys like your room? Scotty and I are down the hall, Leonard's one floor down, I think Sulu and Chekov are a floor up. Chris is next to my room."

"Great. Game starts tomorrow evening?"

"Affirmative."

"Which reminds me, both of you need to get fitted for tuxedos."

"I've already got mine. Tailored and everything."

"When? Who made it?"

"No clue. I just found it with my stuff. I'm assuming the yeoman took care of it or something."

"That leaves Spock. Mind if I steal your boyfriend for a few hours, Jim?"

"Go for it. I need to go talk to Chekov about the game anyway."

"It's final then? You're sending Pavel in to play?"

"He's the best we've got. I think he should go pro if he ever gets tired of Starfleet. Are you dressing him up too?"

"Of course. Sulu's taking care of it."

"Sulu?"

"Did you know he's got great taste? Must be the influence of his sisters. He and Pavel are set with gorgeous Loceamor suits. You should see the cut, Jim."

I looked at Jim, resigned. He shook his head.

"Go have fun."

Nyota began herding me out the door.

"But I want Spock back in one piece," he called.

* * *

"Leonard."

"Damn, Spock. You clean up real nice."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Where's your other half?"

"He is speaking with Pavel on some last matter concerning strategy."

"This mission," Leonard shook his head. "They've been doing nothing but watching vids of the players nonstop and talking about how to bet. Did you know Chris is a goddamn expert on betting for each stage? She's got a whole method for blinds, flops, the turn and river."

"She is an extremely proficient card player."

"It's a miracle I have any credits in my account. By the way, before I forget, Giotto's on a channel to check in with a report on ship's security."

"I have already taken care of it."

"Oh. Great," Leonard grimaced. "These goddamn monkey suits. I'm a doctor, not a penguin. Why're you in all black?"

"Nyota concluded it was a better look for me. After several minutes of deliberation."

"I thought my dress uniform was bad."

"Leonard, I have observed that you often make statements of exaggerated discomfort simply to make them."

"Of course I do!"

I had no reply to that answer.

"Let's go get a drink, at least get something out of all this tomfoolery. Who the hell heard of giving away a planet based on a poker game? Damned idiotic idea if I've ever seen one. Give me a good old fashioned Tennessee whiskey—anything for you, Spock?"

"Vulcan port."

"Vulcan port for him. Say, do Vulcans gamble?"

"Games of probability are considered to provide useful mathematical instruction. However, credits are rarely involved."

"That changes the whole game—it's not gambling if you don't have real stakes."

"Terran forms of gambling contain a large psychological element, which complicates the study of the system as it adds more variables. The study of Vulcan psychology developed distinctly from Terrans."

"So the answer is no, y'all don't gamble. You always have to give the most convoluted answers. Come on," Leonard picked up his drink. "You want to see a completely arbitrary game? Let me introduce you to a little thing we humans like to call a slot machine. You're gonna love it."

* * *

"It is almost impossible to gain any credits from these devices."

"That's the point."

"Yet you claim there are Terrans who sit in front of these contraptions, continuously inputting credits and playing."

"Yup."

"I see no logic in this action."

"They're hoping to hit the jackpot, Spock."

"The probability of that is—"

"If they play long enough, there's a chance of winning something sometime."

"Would not that time and those resources be put to better use in investments or engaging in some profitable activity?"

"You're missing the point again. The point of these little dohickeys here is to win big without doing any work."

"A cheat."

"A break. Every man's gotta have a little luck to live. Not all of us get as lucky as you and Jim, Spock."

"Luck has nothing to do with my current situation."

"I'd say it has a hell of a lot to do with your situation. Come on, finish your credits, you've still got a bunch left. You might even win," Leonard smiled.

A waitress approached.

"Yeah, I'll have another one of these whiskeys here. Spock?"

"I do not require anything," I watched as the program spun the various numbers.

"Thanks. We'll be right here."

"You realize, doctor, that this entire game is likely rigged in favor of the casino. The numbers it purports to generate randomly cannot truly be random."

"Spock, it's not in the casino owner's interest to never let people win. If there's absolutely no chance of winning, no one'll play and the owners won't make any credits. That's what K7's built on."

"Um, excuse me?"

The waitress had not moved.

"Are you—are you Dr. Leonard McCoy?"

We both looked at each other, then looked at her.

"Yes I am."

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't be doing this, but I just—you're like such an inspiration to me—the procedures you've invented—I'm saving up to go to med school—I can't believe I'm actually meeting you—"

For a few moments, Leonard looked like he didn't know what to do with himself. He then smiled, the expression generous.

"That's great to hear. What're you interested in?"

"Oh, I don't know. Surgery, of course, but I don't know what I want to specialize in. I mean, do you have any advice? You practice in practically every field—it's so amazing."

"No advice, but when you get through school, consider joining up with Starfleet. We need more kids like you."

"I've definitely thought about it. Can I—" she pulled out a pen and a scrap of paper. "Can I have your autograph?"

Leonard blinked, then smiled again.

"Sure. What's your name?"

"Hippolyta."

"Well, Hippolyta," Leonard signed in his indecipherable scrawl, "it was a pleasure meeting you."

"Thanks so so much. Okay, I'll get your drinks. Oh my god."

She hurried away, almost skipping to the bar.

I looked at Leonard and raised an eyebrow.

"What? I didn't expect it. She seemed like a nice kid."

"It was an interesting exchange."

"You and Jim are the ones who're supposed to have fans, not me."

"She was an admirer of your work."

"Looks too young to have read my papers."

"Likely she follows the medical nets and read summaries of your breakthroughs."

"I—"

Hippolyta returned with Leonard's drink.

"Thanks. Good luck with medical school."

I was not aware that Terrans could turn so red.

"I'd love to talk with you, but my boss would kill me if she found it. We're technically not supposed to bother you."

"Don't worry about it."

"Thank you so much."

She mumbled something and with that, abruptly turned to continue her rounds.

The slot machine was absolutely neglected.

"Doctor, I do believe she would have been interested meeting with you. Perhaps for more drinks."

"Shut up, Spock. She's a nice kid."

"One never knows one's luck until one tries."

"I thought y'all didn't believe in luck."

"But you do."

"Yeah?" Leonard absently played the rest of the game until the credits were gone. "Maybe better luck next time."

I shrugged.

"Come on, let's go find Jim and the others. They're bound to be here somewhere."

* * *

Jim was standing with some diplomats and officials at a roulette table. Among them was Lurry. Leonard was chatting with Sulu and Christine, Nyota and Scotty were standing at a craps table placing a few bets. Pavel was nowhere to be seen—he and the other poker players were being checked by security for devices. The game was about to start.

I entered the room, walking towards Jim. When he saw me, he seemed to stop mid sentence. Those gathered around him looked to see what had drawn his attention. Jim's eyes followed my movements as I walked, while others began whispering. I raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly at Jim, indicating that he should turn his attention back to those gathered around him. He smiled. It was impossible to miss the sexual undertones of that expression.

As Terrans say—two can play at that game.

When I reached his side, Jim was engaged in conversation once more. As I stepped forward from behind, I allowed my hand to ghost just below the end of his dress coat, over the material of his pants.

His muscles tensed slightly, but his attention remained on the others in the circle.

"Ladies, gentlemen, this is my First Officer, Commander Spock."

I held up the ta'al. Everyone was giving what they thought were covert looks between myself and the captain.

"Come come, now, we're all friends here," Lurry smiled. "There's no need for secrets."

"Practically the entire galaxy _knows_, Captain Kirk."

Jim smiled, the expression charming.

"That's great for them. You'll understand, though, if we choose to keep things under wraps. Privacy's become something of a rare commodity, these days."

Everyone took the hint.

"Ambassador Goigt, how'd you like that 9 iron?" Jim asked, voice smooth. "I've got it on very good authority that your handicap's down to 4."

"It's been great. I've got a new favorite putter now, I'll have to show you sometime..."

I commented a few times in the discussion that followed, but for the most part listened and observed. And watched James Tiberius Kirk, who had once been making crude jokes in backwater bars on Terra, stand in a tailored tuxedo and navigate the small talk of the rich and powerful with ease, as if he were born into this exclusive world.

* * *

We were gathered to enter the room where the poker tournament would take place. The _Enterprise_ crew stood towards one corner.

"Jim, do you think we've got a chance to win this?" Sulu asked.

"Yeah. Chekov can hold his own. And he does well under pressure. I think we've got a solid chance. Chris?"

"I recognized some of the names in there—Higami, Gaieth, Yl'Tomromoj. They're very good. _Very_ good."

"I'm not worried about pros winning—if that happens, Federation'll make an offer for the planet, shell out some huge amount of credits."

"And so will the Klingons," Leonard answered.

"It still gives us a chance to get Sherman's planet. As long as the Orions and Klingons don't win, it's fine."

"Jim, I've been hearing quite a bit of gossip going on in the background," Scotty smiled. "You and Spock? What exactly have you been doing to merit such delicious rumors?"

"Nothing."

Leonard snorted.

"It's true! We haven't even touched in public since that session with the reporters."

"We know it's true, Jim. You don't have to do anything for people to know, though," Nyota said.

"It's written all over your goddamn face."

Jim looked at me.

"See? Right there. And there."

"Leonard," Christine laughed. "Stop. He can't help it."

"If it makes you feel any better, Scotty looks just as stupid in love as you."

"Thanks, Sulu. Thanks a lot."

"Aye, but at least no one's sneaking around the bushes to snap a picture of us kissing. Which, I think I might do."

Nyota grinned as Scotty kissed her.

"Don't rub it in," Jim laughed.

They responded by kissing more enthusiastically.

Leonard rolled his eyes while Sulu looked extremely amused. Christine gave a sympathetic smile to Jim and myself.

"Oh, they're opening the doors," Chris said.

"Break it up, you guys, or I really will call the reporters."

"Well, here goes nothing. Pasha better win. I've got serious credits riding on him."


	189. Ch 189

Tournament attendance, though it was being broadcast on the nets, was by invitation only. Thus there was a limited number of people, all dressed to the nines, milling about a luxurious room with their drinks, taking a seat and quietly conversing. The poker players had not yet entered the room. Jim wandered over to the delegation from Orion and began flirting with the dignitaries, their equivalent of small talk. Christine and Sulu sat down to chairs that would give them full view of the poker table and all the proceedings that would take place. Leonard struck up conversation with a businessman from Ferengi, while Scotty whispered something into Nyota's ear, causing her to smile, restraining a laugh.

A bureaucrat by the name of Nilz Baris approached me. I recognized him from one of the diplomatic missions my father had taken when I was young. At that time, Mr. Baris was an aide to the ambassador from Terra. I believe he had aspirations of becoming a high ranking ambassador himself. Evidently those plans did not come into fruition. I did not remember very much concerning his character, but by the appearance of his pinched face and sour expression, he has not advanced far.

He held out a hand to shake. I raised my hand in a ta'al. He seemed to remember himself and awkwardly cramped his fingers to form the ta'al.

Mr. Baris is distinctly unsuited for diplomacy.

"Commander Spock, I don't know if you remember me, Nilz Baris. I was the aide to Ambassador Ramamurthy when your father was Vulcan's ambassador to Earth."

"Indeed, I recall several events where we were both in attendance."

Mr. Baris seemed to inflate with my words.

"By your uniform and insignia, you are currently employed in the Department of Interior."

He beamed.

"I'm the Federation Undersecretary of this quadrant. I manage the agricultural affairs of the planets here."

"Interesting. What brings you to K7?"

"Actually, I've been meaning to speak to you and Captain Kirk about this very matter. It's _official_ Federation _business_."

The sound of laughter and the ringing of crystal. Jim and Nyota had utterly charmed the Orions, if their coy expressions and the light scent of pheromones in the air were any indication. Scotty was with Leonard and two other Ferengi joined them. The discussion appeared to be intense. Sulu and Christine were lounging, likely discussing poker strategies.

I turned my attention back to Mr. Baris.

"I was not informed of any ongoing projects by the Federation in this sector."

"Well, Mr. Spock," Mr. Baris lowered his tone of voice. "It's a rather _confidential_ and _sensitive_ project. _Very_ important."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I see."

"Have you heard of," Mr. Baris shifted his eyes suspiciously, glancing around as if to ensure that no one was eavesdropping on our conversation.

I resisted the urge to look at Jim. Petty and ridiculous bureaucrat or not, I am First Officer of the _Enterprise_ and will conduct myself accordingly.

"Have you heard of quadrotriticale?" he almost whispered.

I blinked.

"Quadrotriticale?" Jim asked, voice raised. He winked at me as he came to my side. "Yeah, I've heard of it. High-yield grain, four-lobed hybrid of wheat and rye, perennial. I think you can trace the genetic engineering of the thing back to Canada."

Mr. Baris was flabbergasted. His face was also slightly red.

"What about it?" Jim sipped his drink and motioned for the waiter to come over. "Two fingers of Vulcan port, neat for Commander Spock."

Jim stepped closer to me and we touched skin to skin.

_Thank you._

_No problem. You looked like you needed it. Who is this guy_?

The resident Undersecretary of Agricultural Affairs had yet to recover his powers of speech.

_Undersecretary? Weird. They didn't let some presidents of planets come to this thing, but he's an undersecretary? Must be loaded. Or Baris has connections._

"Thank you," I took my drink from the waiter. "Mr. Baris, you were speaking of the importance of quadrotriticale in a recent project of your department?"

"Who speaks of quadrotriticale?" two Klingons joined our discussion.

Jim smiled, an aggressive edge to his expression. He simultaneously moved to widen the circle and admit the Klingons into our conversation.

"Captain James T. Kirk, of the USS _Enterprise_."

"Captain Koloth of the IKS _B'Moth_."

"Korax of the IKS _B'Moth_."

"Spock of Vulcan, First Officer of the USS _Enterprise_."

The Klingons nodded.

"Who speaks of quadrotriticale?" Koloth demanded.

"I don't know. We're all waiting on Mr. Baris to tell us."

Mr. Baris was frozen. Whether out of anger or fear, I could not determine. The two feelings are not mutually exclusive.

"Earthers. So arrogant that you think you'll colonize the planet before you win it? The tournament has not begun."

_What am I missing here, Spock._

"You've gotta have arrogance if you want to win a poker game," Jim answered.

_Quadrotriticale, according to recent projections and studies, is the only Terran grain that will be able to germinate on Sherman's planet. Mr. Baris' presence and project indicate that the Federation has already made extensive plans for the development of Sherman's planet_.

_Got it, thanks._

"It will be my pleasure to watch your face when my deputy destroys this game," Koloth bared his teeth.

"Destroys?" Jim laughed. "Man, you don't know the game at all. Are you sure you're signed up for the right tournament?"

_Koloth's got a point. That's a stupid plan. We haven't even won the planet_.

_The Federation is apparently extremely confident in your ability to bring about a victory_.

"Captain, your ignorance of the Klingon way shows itself pathetically. We _invented_ games of risk, wagering our honor."

_Confident in my ability? I'm not even the one sitting at the table._

"Honor? You think poker's about honor? Captain, better pack up and go home, there's no way you're gonna win if you think poker's about _honor_," Jim bared his teeth. "Tell you what, why don't you save yourself the embarrassment of defeat, and go back to your bird-of-prey."

_Where the hell are the players, anyway_? _I thought the game was supposed to get underway ten minutes ago._

"We won't tell anyone, Koloth. No shame in that."

The Klingon made a guttural noise.

_Jim, provoking the Klingons is not advisable_.

_I know what I'm doing, Spock. This is their idea of a good conversation._

_I am aware of Klingon standards of conduct. However, there is a line between assertive statements and baiting a diplomatic party._

_And I'm messing with it. Try it sometime. It's fun._

"I'd like nothing more than to fight you blade on blade," Koloth drew himself up to his full height.

"Name the time and place," Jim said, nonchalant. His sipped his drink.

Around us, the room had gone quiet.

_Jim_.

_Let me handle this, okay? It's a pissing contest. He doesn't mean anything he says._

I stood in perfect military posture and made direct eye contact with the Klingons.

Korax sneered.

I raised an eyebrow.

Koloth looked between me and the captain.

"The sharpest sword will win."

"Bullshit. Victory never comes from the sharpest blade, but the person who wields it," Jim answered.

Silence.

"Your reputation is not exaggerated, Captain Kirk of the USS _Enterprise_."

"And I'm going to keep it that way."

Koloth gave a Klingon salute, and Jim mimicked the action.

The entire room seemed to relax. The Klingons moved back to the space they had demarcated in the room, the Orions had been watching Jim and Koloth closely. For reasons unknown, Mr. Baris was apoplectic. However, he did not have time to name his grievances—whether against the Klingons or against Jim, I was not certain—as Mr. Lurry finally announced the beginning of the tournament.

Nyota came up to us as the players filed in.

"Are you trying to give us a heart attack, captain?" she said in undertone, maintaining her flawlessly beautiful facade.

"Just making friendly hellos, lieutenant," Jim answered in a similar tone. "Making sure they don't even think of messing with us."

"You really had to put the whole room on edge?"

"You have any better ideas? I could've taken in up on the duel, if you think that's more culturally appropriate."

Nyota gave him a look.

"Spock had my back."

Her expression softened, understanding in her eyes.

"Well," she paused and turned to me, "It was worth it to see you looking so fierce, staring Klingons down in a black tux."

Jim grinned.

_And you wonder why I fantasize about that time you almost killed me_.

"Illogical."

* * *

An Organian stood at the dealer's place, expression placid and indifferent It was not one Jim and I met previously in our mission. She telekinetically distributed the cards and spoke "players, place your bets" quietly. Pavel sat at the table wearing sunglasses and his tailored suit. His hair was different. The usually unruly and boyish curls were combed in some way, styled to make him appear older and more sophisticated.

"The lad looks like he belongs at the table," Scotty said, coming to join myself and Nyota. "His hair's a little funny looking."

"I like his hair like that," Nyota answered.

"He is certainly holding his own," I nodded.

Pavel was playing solidly. He was not the leader in the amount of chips, and had not made any particularly impressive plays, but he was unflappable, giving nothing away in his facial expressions. Some underestimated him due to his age and youthful appearance.

"Aye. You know, I think he could actually win this."

"It is too early to know."

"He's got good instincts," Nyota said. "If things get bad—for whatever reason—Jim said he's planning on putting Christine in and giving Pavel a break."

"Can he do that? I've never heard of a tournament that lets you do that."

"As I understand, the rules of this particular tournament are rather unorthodox due to the players involved and what is at stake."

"Why'd Jim put the Russian in for this? Christine cleans me out _and_ my stash whenever I play with her. I swear, the woman's a cardshark."

"It was a close call, but Jim decided to go with Pavel. Christine tends to play a little more conservatively. They're both good at reading faces and keeping their expressions clear, but Pavel's more likely to make a big play. Apparently they conducted statistical tests as part of the evaluation."

"Fascinating."

"She and Sulu are in charge of watching the game to keep track of other players and larger trends. They'll have a debriefing later tonight."

"Sulu's is in charge of observation? He's the worst poker player I've ever seen!"

"I highly doubt that, Scotty. Sulu is proficient at poker, but among us his skill is insufficient. It is a matter of the sample group."

"No," Nyota replied. "I think he's a terrible poker player. But he's good at picking up details about other people—I think it's the security training he's got."

"Darling, that doesn't explain why the lad's a disaster with Texas Hold'Em."

"Pavel says it's because Sulu doesn't know when to bet on his cards and when to bet based on the plays of the people around him. He tends to focus too much on his cards."

Pavel threw his cards to the middle, folding for that round.

Nyota frowned.

"Everyone's getting to know each other right now. It's going to be a long few nights."

* * *

"Chris, keep an eye on the game. We'll be right back."

She gave Jim a knowing look.

"Remember, captain," she said breezily. "A door."

Nyota has told everyone in our circle the story of the diplomatic gathering, the thermogenesis.

"Have fun."

He smirked, then nudged me to follow. Jim nodded and smiled to various onlookers as we walked out of the room and into the corridor. The floor was lined with a rich red carpet, small glass and bronze sculptures were displayed along the wall. The end of the hall opened into a rotunda, from which hung an enormous chandelier. The floor was covered in intricate marble and sound echoed from the lower levels up to the ceiling. Jim continued walking. He seemed to have a particular destination in mind.

We walked halfway down another corridor when Jim stopped in front of an attendant. He said something in an undertone, a substantial number of credits were exchanged. The attendant nodded and opened the door.

Inside was a lounge. Original paintings from some popular modern artists hung in large gilt frames from the walls. Jim paid no attention to the arrangement of the sofas, but walked through another doorway to what was apparently a lavatory. The floor was tiled with black granite, strange polished silver figurines stood as decorations. Every surface seemed to glow with dark reflections. The lighting was spare and selective, carefully designed to complement the placement of the mirrors. There were a few stalls for toilets and a row of urinals along the wall.

Jim pushed me against the wall near a urinal and proceeded to kiss me.

I was exceedingly puzzled.

"Jim."

His hands unbuttoned my tuxedo jacket and slid it off easily, then pulled aside the bands of my suspenders.

"Yeah?"

He loosed my tie and undid the first button of my dress shirt.

"What are you doing?"

He pulled the tie out entirely.

"Undressing you."

"In a lavatory."

"A _really_ nice one. It fucking bleeds credits."

He kissed me again.

"You are aroused by this?"

"Sometimes you ask the dumbest questions."

"I am merely attempting to understand why you have chosen this venue at this time to pursue sexual intercourse."

"Spock," Jim nipped my fingers.

My pupils dilated.

"We're at K7, in a luxury hotel that charges the GDP of a small planet to use one room, for one night," he sucked my ring finger from knuckle to tip. "My lieutenant is playing a game of poker—and he'll probably win—for the ownership of a planet that's in textbook perfect position for a military base. There are at least fifty reporters who'd kill to get pictures of us _touching_," he licked along the lines of my palm. "And while all that's going on, at this moment, in this hotel, I'm going to fuck you."

Jim bit into the skin of my wrist.

"In a lavatory."

He looked at me.

"You can't get over that, can you."

"We have a room, Jim."

"And we'll use it. Later."

"I see no reason why—"

"Think of it this way. If you could fuck me in a lab at the Vulcan Science Academy, would do you do it?"

"The laboratory is an unsuitable environment—"

Jim covered my mouth with his hand. He leaned in until I could feel his lips almost touching my ear.

"That asshat who insulted your mom. Let's say he has a lab—does he? Don't say anything, just nod."

I inclined my head slightly. Jim laughed softly and kissed my ear.

"You know what it looks like?"

I nodded again.

"If you could fuck me in his lab—maybe right where his computer terminal is—would you do it? Maybe against the fume hood, or did his office overlook the particle accelerator? No one's there except the security guy and all the polished lab surfaces," Jim removed his hand from my mouth and continued to unbutton my shirt. "You'd take your sweet time, you'd be fucking _meticulous_," his hands went around to remove my cummerbund. "I'm right, aren't I."

I looked at him, breathing slightly shallow.

"That's what this is like for me. It's not _logical_," his hand was cool against my groin. "But think of it that way."

"On the contrary, Jim," I unbuttoned his dress coat. "Now that you have provided the proper frame of reference, I find it quite logical."

He stopped me from undressing him further.

"This one's my fantasy. I'll do whatever you want if we ever get the chance to go to Vulcan II and tour their new Academy. But," he pressed me against the wall again, "this one's mine."

A series of images flashed through my mind. Jim looked straight into my eyes.

"I've got a few others."

"Several, it would seem. Your favorite—?"

Jim leaned in, unbuttoned my trousers, pulled out my dress shirt. He was surprisingly proficient at pulling my cufflinks out with his teeth.

"My favorite," he kissed down my neck as the material of my shirt slid off. "My favorite involves the captain's chair."

* * *

"Jim, your tie."

"I forget how to do it."

I paused from putting on my dress shirt and tied Jim's bow tie. I stepped back and, satisfied with the arrangement, I returned to dressing. When I was finished, Jim had an inscrutable expression on his face.

I looked at him.

"It's nothing," he smiled. "Just... I was remembering something."

I held up two fingers. He pressed his fingers to mine.

"All right. Want me to help you dress?"

A full state of dress took a rather long time to accomplish.

* * *

"It's about goddamn time. And don't tell me where you were or what you did."

"Did we miss anything?"

"Nothing, except our resident Russian genius is cleaning out everyone's clocks. Who taught that boy to play poker?"

"His brother, I think," Jim took a Klingon martini from a cocktail waiter.

"The same one that got killed in a firefight against the Klingons?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be damned if this aint some sort of poetic justice."

"I don't think he sees it that way. Chekov just likes playing poker."

"He looks damn ridiculous in those sunglasses."

"I think he looks kind of cute. Like a movie star trying too hard to look famous," Nyota joined us.

"Where were you?"

"With Scotty."

Jim frowned.

"Where's Scotty?"

"At the bar with Sulu."

"The open bar?"

"I think so."

Jim looked slightly apprehensive at the prospect of Montgomery Scott near a source of unlimited alcohol, mingling with Klingons and Orions.

"I thought Sulu was supposed to stay focused on the game."

"He needed to take a break for a while. I've been minding the store with Chris."

"Did we miss anything?" Nyota asked.

"No. Unless y'all want a play by play of the cards that went down."

"I was not aware that you had a photographic memory, Leonard."

"I don't remember everything, Spock, but I remember well enough. I'm a doctor—what do you think got me through medical school? Memorization's part of the craft. Now if you really want a play by play, talk to Chris. She hasn't moved from that spot since she sat down."

"The game interests her," I looked at her, dressed elegantly and grey eyes trained on the poker table and the various screens that showed the broadcast version of the tournament.

There was a noise. We all turned to Nyota.

"Ndugu, what is that furry object you are carrying?"

"This? I won it. Isn't it adorable?"

"It's trilling," Jim looked at it curiously.

"It's a tribble. That's what Cyrano Jones called it."

"A tribble," I repeated.

"Do you know what it is, Bones?"

"You'd think after handling every single animal God created in this universe I'd see a little fellow like this. I've got no idea."

"Does it even have a head? Where's that sound coming from?"

"Mind if I hold it, Nyota?" Leonard asked.

"Not at all. He's cute, isn't he?"

"He?" I raised an eyebrow.

"I really don't know. Oh, shoot. I've got fur all over my front. I'll be right back. Don't get hair on your tuxes, any of you."

With that, Nyota quickly exited.

Leonard was petting the tribble, which seemed to be made entirely of trills and fur.

"Doctor, what is that?" Chekov walked up to us, still wearing his sunglasses.

"Did you guys dismiss for the night or something?"

"No keptan. We are getting a break, then playing some more. It is going to be a long game. Maybe a few days. These players—they are wery good. Best I haf seen."

"You aren't doing too bad, for a nineteen year old. Is there anything you're not a prodigy at?" Leonard continued to pet the tribble.

"I will find something," Pavel smiled.

"You look badass in your sunglasses. Like a Russian secret agent."

"Thank you, keptan. But I am feeling more like an oligarch _sechas_."

The tribble let out a loud trill of what sounded like satisfaction.

"What is it?"

"Nyota won it," Jim shrugged.

"It is a tribble, apparently. We have yet to determine the whereabouts of its head."

"Oh be quiet, Spock. Stop trying to dissect it. It's soft, furry, warm, makes a pleasant sound. Who cares where its head is."

"It is also currently shedding on your dress coat, Leonard."

Jim sneezed.

Leonard and I turned to Jim immediately.

"I'm fine."

"Goddamnit, I should've known you'd be allergic to this furball!"

"I'm fine, I swear."

"Captain, there is a supply of medication in our quarters."

"You packed hypos?"

"Of course he packs hypos! So do I!"

"I am always prepared."

Jim sneezed again.

"That's it. One dose, got it, Spock? I'm going to hunt down Nyota and get this tribble back to her."

"Understood, doctor. Pavel, Sulu and Scotty are currently at the open bar. Nyota and I made reservations for our party at the Arcadia. We will meet you there at 2200 local time."

Jim sneezed again.

"Jim, the exit is this way."

We were walking to our suite when

"Captain Kirk! Commander Spock!"

"Mr. Baris, I'm afraid we are not available to speak with you at this moment—"

"But this is important! There are Klingon agents trying to sabotage my grain!"

"We will address the problem at another time. If you'll excuse us—"

"You have no idea how important this is! It spells disaster for us if the quadrotriticale is damaged in any way—"

"Look, Baris, we'll talk after dinner, all right?" Jim sneezed. "I'll meet you at the bar in Arcadia at 2430."

"Captain—!"

"Your grain will be safe, all right? I'm sure nothing's going to happen to it."

"I want that grain protected, Captain Kirk. By my authority as Federation Undersecretary, I order you to post guards on the grain storage containers."

Jim blinked. Then sneezed.

"Mr. Baris, I'm afraid you are overreacting to this threat," I said smoothly. "If you will write a report of your security concerns, compile your evidence for your claims and submit it to Lt. Giotto on the _Enterprise_, our crew will determine the validity of your suspicions."

"But I ordered—"

"And as commanders of a Federation starship we are authorized to evaluate any claims made by a third party before we engage in a course of action. Regulation 348, paragraph C, clause 13 subclause G."

Mr. Baris turned red again, for reasons unknown.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, our suite is down this hall."

* * *

I pressed the hypo into Jim's skin. The bowtie hung undone, collar of his dress shirt open. His dress coat carefully placed on the back of a chair. I moved and placed the equipment back in the kit. When I turned around, Jim had not moved. He smiled and pointed to the place where I had injected the dose.

"It hurts."

It does not. But I kissed it anyway. Then continued to pack the kit away.

"We must join the crew at dinner in ten minutes."

"I know," he was buttoning his shirt and fumbling with the bowtie.

I tied it for him again. Jim kept his eyes on me as I manipulated the cloth.

"I'm going to do so many things to you in this room."

"The desire is mutual."

"You have no idea how hot you look in that tux."

"On the contrary, I have a fair idea. I have been approached eight times today. People here also seem to be fond of sending me drinks."

"You accept any?"

"I accepted one."

Jim opened his mouth to say something when I took his hand in mine.

"Two fingers of Vulcan port, neat."

His blue eyes were brilliant when he leaned in and kissed me.

"I find it hard to believe that you have not been similarly approached."

He shook his head.

"Bones is right—I can't hide it. It's all over my face. I might as well be wearing a neon sign. You're harder to read."

"Do you find it difficult to read me also?"

"No. I meant, you're harder to read for other people."

Jim put on his dress coat. There were no creases, but I smoothed the cloth anyway.

"Ready?" he took my hand and kissed the knuckle of my pinkie finger.

"Of course."


	190. Ch 190

We ordered our meals and turned our attention back to the conversation.

"So Pavel, how'd you feel tonight? Feeling good?" Jim asked.

"No pressure, lad."

"I think I am playing well. They say the person to beat is Yl'Tomromoj," he shrugged. "I am not so sure. Yl'Tomromoj is wery good, but Pindarus is quiet player, wery calculated."

"I'd keep my eye on the Orion rookie, Guilu. He's surprised me with some shrewd bluffs," Christine said.

"What, no Klingons in the running?" Leonard asked.

"They're good players, but I'd be surprised if they won," she answered.

"Okay okay okay, guys," Sulu tapped his fork against his glass. "Let's set up some ground rules here—no talking about work. Poker is technically work, and we'll be debriefing later anyway."

"Ewery time we are relaxing you are wanting to put limits on what we cannot talk about. First it is theoretical physics, now poker. You are a tyrant."

"Some of us don't like to live and breathe our missions," Leonard replied.

"Said the man who lives and breathes medicine."

"Har har Chris, very clever. I like things other than medicine."

"Really doctor? Enlighten us."

Leonard sat back in his seat.

"Every now and again I like to read a little French literature."

"Woah, Bones. When'd you start doing that?"

"I stopped right after the divorce—that was something me and my ex-wife shared. But I've been starting up again, looking over bits and pieces of my favorite books. What about you, Jim? Any odd hobbies that we don't know about?"

Jim opened his mouth to say something—

"And don't say Spock."

"Damn."

Everyone laughed. I raised an eyebrow.

"I haven't really had time for stuff like hobbies. I used to tinker around with machines a lot."

"Did you ever consider the engineering track, Jim?" Scotty asked.

"I thought about it, yeah. I figured if I failed command school, I could go for engineering."

"Can you imagine?" Christine smiled. "James Kirk as an engineer. I think you'd be just as crazy as Scotty."

"_Ya soglasno_. Keptan's job would not be changing the effect of Kirk-force."

"Now that's a slander against _my_ character if I ever heard one! _He's_ the one who makes the unreasonable demands—I follow the madman's orders."

"Um, beaming Archer's beagle?" Sulu said.

"That was a legitimate experiment on my theory—"

"Those 535 sandwiches you made for the Federation Council?"

"There's nothing wrong with corned beef sandwiches for such a fine body of half-arsed politicians—"

"Or the best one yet, remember when he modified the engines and we almost broke warp ten?" Nyota said, taking Scotty's hand.

Jim shook his head.

That experience was certainly memorable.

"Sorry Scotty, the jury has made its werdict. You are crazy."

"Only as crazy as the people around you," Leonard nodded. "I'd say that's a good place to be."

"What did you do before coming on the _Enterprise_?" Christine asked.

"I thought we were talking about hobbies," Sulu said.

"Well, it seems like no one really has much time for hobbies anymore. It makes more sense to talk about what we did before the _Enterprise_ became the center of our lives."

"She is right, Hikaru."

"Maybe you don't have hobbies, Pash, but _I_ do."

"You all know that I spent a few cold years on Delta Vega—miserable place, that—but the facilities were quite spacious and I could work on anything I wanted."

"Don't tell me—you invented communicators," Jim smiled.

"Don't I wish I did. Whoever's holding the patents for those is filthy rich right now. No, it's a little embarrassing, how I spent a lot of my time on that icecap."

"What? What did you do?" Sulu asked.

Scotty looked Nyota, who smiled, amused.

"I played an awful lot of pong."

"Pong?" Christine laughed. "What was your high score?"

"I am not understanding. What is pong?"

"Only one of the first videogames to be invented by humans," Sulu answered. "You played pong the entire time?"

"Not the entire time, but a good chunk of it was, uh, shall we say frittered away."

"You should've at least played the 3d version."

"It's not the same, Jim. The 2d's old and outdated, but it's got its own charm."

"Explain this pong thing to me," Leonard said. "I heard you, it's a videogame, but what do you do?"

"It's very simple, actually," Christine answered. "It's like ping-pong, with two players who bat a virtual ball back and forth. The goal is to return the ball and have the opponent drop it."

"The 3d version's way better," Jim said.

"Wouldn't it be exactly like tennis? The 3d version?" Nyota asked. "Why not just play tennis?"

"No, there's all kinds of cool effects with the 3d one. It's completely different. I thought you played videogames."

"Only a few times with friends."

"Say there, Pavel, where'd you learn to play poker like that?" Scotty asked.

Pavel shrugged.

"I haf been playing a long time, many different kinds of poker. It was something we did in school, that is all."

"What kind of stakes did you play for?" Christine leaned forward.

"When we were children, we are wagering things like dares. Some credits maybe, or new gadgets. If someone had new datapad, they might bet that."

"Wait, how'd you determine the value of stuff like that?" Jim asked.

"Actually, we used a similar system when we were kids. You'd play with fake credits set at a certain value, and you paid off your bets with objects everyone thought was worth that amount," Christine answered, then looked at Pavel. "We didn't do dares though."

"They were wery silly."

"Come on, now you've got to tell us," Sulu said.

"You will like this one, Hikaru. One was a dare to steal the neighbor's shuttle plane and fly it around the world."

A pause as everyone gathered looked at Pavel with varying degrees of incredulity.

"Did they do it?"

"I was in the middle of the Pacific Ocean when highway cops are finding me."

"_You_ did that?"

"How old were you?"

"Thirteen? _Da, mnye builo let thrinadsat_."

Jim was grinning widely. It seems there are more commonalities between him and Pavel than he originally thought.

"What the hell are you kids _doing_ in Siberia?"

"Stupid things, doctor. We were all wery bored and wanting to move around in the winter. Environmental controls are not the same as real Russian summer."

"Did any of them include vodka?"

Pavel looked at Scotty strangely.

"_Koneshno_. Of course. This is Russia."

"Y'all're a little underage to be drinking that."

Pavel turned his strange look to Leonard.

"I am Russian."

"Don't give me that look. Do you know what alcohol does to brain cells of kids as young as that? I don't get how you're still a genius if you started drinking when you barely hit puberty. It's a goddamn miracle to me you're not an alcoholic."

Christine was smiling and shaking her head.

"It's a cultural thing, Len."

"I don't care!"

"All right, back away from the medicine talk," Sulu said. "We said nothing about work."

"_Nyet_. _You_ said nothing about work."

"I think those're our dishes."

The waiters and waitresses laid our plates down, refilled drinks.

"Jim, of all the things you can get at this fine establishment, you got a hamburger," Scotty shook his head.

"You got curry," Jim said, dipping one of his gourmet fries in ketchup. "You can get curry anywhere too."

"This isn't curry, Jim, it's a dish from Betazed that I haven't had since I was a cadet—"

"Looks like curry, smells like curry. I'd say it's curry."

"The man's hopeless," Scotty shook his head.

"I'll say," Leonard said, slicing into a filet mignon.

"Maybe keptan wants something familiar. He is always dining with dignitaries and trying their food. I don't see what is wrong with a hamburger. I am hafing borsch."

"Thank you, Pavel. See? I've got reasons why I do these things."

"It's funny. We all ordered comfort food," Christine said, looking at everyone's dishes.

"Your comfort food is a plate of sashimi?" Leonard raised his eyebrows.

"The Tellarite version of sashimi, actually. I had it all the time when I was a teenager."

"I've had some of that before," Sulu said. "It's an acquired taste."

"Oh, I couldn't get enough of it. This was after we moved away from your neighborhood—one of my best friends, I think her father was a Tellarite, but she always had it for lunch, and she absolutely hated it. We traded lunches every day."

"Spock, you've been quiet," Leonard turned his attention to me. "Cat got your tongue?"

"I enjoy listening to the conversation."

"What've you got there?" Scotty asked. "Something Vulcan?"

"Something vegan, that's for sure. Can I still kiss you after I've eaten meat?"

I raised two fingers.

"I meant the human way," he pressed his fingers into mine.

"It hasn't come up before?" Nyota asked.

"We've been in pretty public places most of the time we have meals. Mess hall. Diplomatic mission. So no, hasn't really come up."

"You should not haf been asking, keptan. Now there will be a rule."

"Rules are negotiable," Jim smiled, mischievous look on his face. He leaned in to kiss me.

This man. I raised an eyebrow.

"Guess not, Jim," Sulu laughed.

Jim sat back in his chair and took a bite of his hamburger. I pressed my lips very briefly to his temple, then returned to my meal.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Leonard pointed his steak knife at Jim.

He chewed, swallowed, took a drink.

"I wasn't going to."

"Lad, are you sure you want to have Saurian brandy with borsch? It doesn't appeal to me as a very appetizing combination."

Pavel rolled his eyes.

"I am not sewenteen."

"He meant that alcohol can enhance the flavor of your food if it's well chosen," Nyota explained.

"It really depends on tradition and setting, though," Christine added. "For example, Jim—"

"Stop picking on my food, guys."

"He could have his burger with beer, but he's having it with red wine."

"Wasn't in the mood for beer. I'm in a tuxedo."

"I know what you mean," Sulu nodded. "Any chance we could go somewhere less formal later? I've heard crazy things about the nightlife here."

"Nyota and I are planning on checking out some clubs the night before the final rounds," Christine said. "We should all go together."

"I think we might pass," Jim shook his head. "Unless you guys feel like dealing with the paparazzi."

"Our absence may make us more conspicuous."

"You don't have to make a decision right now," Christine replied. "It was a suggestion."

"I think I might have to pass on that one too."

"Aw, Doc, come on. It'll be fun."

"I'm a country doctor, not a party animal."

"You say like it's a bad thing, Len."

"It's not my scene. There's a few comedy clubs I'd like to check out."

"Are you okay with that, Pavel?" Nyota asked. "That we're not all going to be there every night you play?"

"It is no problem to me," he nodded. "I do not really think about you when I am playing poker."

"Do you feel any kind of pressure sitting at the table?"

"_Nyet_, Scotty. It is fun. I enjoy it, or I would not be doing it."

"Great," Jim said.

"Ladies, gentlemen, I'd like to propose a toast," Scotty smiled and raised his glass. "To Pavel Andreyevich Chekov, the craziest Russian genius I've had the pleasure of working with. And to his first round against the galaxy's best card players."

Pavel turned slightly pink as we all raised our glasses.

"To 'wictory'!" Scotty laughed.

"To 'wictory'," Jim said beside me.

"To victory."

* * *

"Captain Kirk, I demand a meeting with you!"

Jim turned in his seat and looked at Mr. Baris. The crew were looking at his intrusion with cool politeness and some hostility. We were in the middle of desert.

"Excuse me, this is a private dinner," Nyota said pointedly.

"I am the Undersecretary of Agricultural Affairs in this sector and there is a security threat to a top priority Federation project that Captain Kirk refuses to acknowledge!"

I raised my eyebrow.

"If I recall correctly we asked that you file a report with Lt. Giotto aboard the _Enterprise_. Has he ignored your request?"

"He posted two guards for the storage lots. Two! I have thirty metric tons of quadrotriticale and there's an infestation of Klingons at this station and your deputy posts _two_ guards!"

"You know," Leonard drawled. "I've never questioned the orders or the intelligence of any representative of the Federation. Until now."

"Mr. Baris, I trust Lt. Giotto's judgment on this. He's an expert on security and he's been on the job for more than seven years. Our security guards are also highly trained and there's no situation you can't throw at them where they won't respond quickly and efficiently."

"But the Klingons—"

"I highly doubt that the Klingons will storm the granaries, Mr. Baris," I replied.

"They're trying to sabotage my plans! This project is extremely important for the future of the Federation and if you won't take this threat seriously, I'll report it to my superiors."

Jim and I rose from our seats simultaneously. Mr. Baris stepped back.

"You guys keep eating. We'll take care of this."

"Captain—" they began protesting.

He shook his head.

"Mr. Baris, if you'll follow me this way," Jim motioned towards the bar.

We followed the esteemed undersecretary to another part of the restaurant.

"Yeah, a beer for me, whatever's good, and Mr. Baris? Anything for you?"

"A Klabnian firetea."

I declined to take any drink. Jim did not touch his beer—I suspect it was merely for the purpose of ordering a drink for Mr. Baris.

"I need you to explain what's going on from the beginning, Mr. Baris."

"You didn't get a brief from Starfleet Headquarters about this _classified_ project?"

Jim smiled, the expression tight.

"No."

Mr. Baris inflated with his own sense of self importance.

"Well, that's perfectly understandable. Undoubtedly they thought it was too sensitive to be transmitted and wanted me to inform you personally of the details."

This man truly has no conception of how Starfleet operates.

"I'm sure. Now that we're in a more _secure_," the word was laced with sarcasm. Anyone who so desired could eavesdrop on this conversation, "location, can you give me some more details about this project you're in charge of?"

Jim was being amazingly patient with Mr. Baris.

"As you probably didn't know, Captain Kirk, quadrotriticale is the only grain that grows on Sherman's planet."

"I was under the impression that certain strains of Denobulan cousva were successfully planted on Sherman's planet. And while the soil may not be ideal for grain, it is suitable for Tellarite scitrus trees, malovantia, and Rigelian rhargibs. In addition—"

"Commander, you've made your point," he touched his hand to mine.

_He just gets more pissed off when you do that, Spock_.

_That is not our problem, captain_.

"That grain represents a substantial Federation investment in the development of Sherman's planet. It's imperative that it stay safe from an attempt at sabotaging the success of this project. The security of the Alpha Quadrant depends on it."

I could see Jim resisting the urge to put his hand to his forehead.

"Mr. Baris," Jim smiled. "We don't even own Sherman's planet yet."

"The grain must be guarded!"

"Sir, I'm sorry, but in the absence of more evidence—proof that this grain is threatened—I can't do anything more than what Lt. Giotto's already done. Placing a security detail in a grain storage compartment when there's no clear threat is an inefficient use of my resources and preemptive too, since we don't know the outcome of this poker game. No one's been eliminated yet, and it's going to be a couple of days before we even know who the finalists are."

"What more evidence do you need? There are _Klingons_ here!"

Jim looked incredulous.

"Excuse me?"

"The Klingons want Sherman's planet and will stop at nothing to get it!"

"Then do you suggest that we place a guard on every single Klingon in K7, Mr. Baris, when official diplomatic relations between the Federation and the Klingon Empire are not hostile? Such an act would be perceived as an insult and would do nothing to improve the relations between our governments."

"I was a diplomatic aide to Ambassador Ramamurthy and I know—"

"Yet you are not a diplomat and clearly do not understand anything of the nuances of diplomacy. As far as I can discern, you have based the entirety of your suspicions on stereotypes and an unfounded distrust of Klingons. The fact that their interests run contrary to our own does not immediately imply that they are willing to break the rules of interstellar diplomacy for the sake of a few tons of quadrotriticale, especially when the conditions of Sherman's planet naturally favor Klingon plant species."

_Spock, stop ripping into the guy. He's not worth it._

_Jim_—

_Yeah, I know. I'd rather deal with Koloth than him, but it doesn't matter. He's an idiot. There's lots of them in the world. Just, let it go. I didn't get to finish dessert_.

"If you hear something new, let us know asap and we'll look into it. We've made our take on this situation clear. So if you'll excuse us, Mr. Baris. I'd appreciate it if you didn't interrupt us again."

Mr. Baris began sputtering, but Jim simply walked away. The bureaucrat decided it was a prudent idea to follow us.

Jim stopped.

"This discussion is over."

"But you haven't—"

"I've asked you once, I won't ask again. You've got two choices—leave, or get dragged out of here by the host," Jim nodded to the maître d'. "We're done here."

"My sincerest apologies, Captain Kirk. If you'll follow this way, Mr. Baris," the maître d' motioned.

Mr. Baris stomped out, radiating anger and humiliation.

Jim leaned into me slightly.

"I've got a headache."


	191. Ch 191

Jim and I were tangled up in soft sheets, skin to skin on an enormous bed. He can be quite inventive when he's given a large space. We seem to have added a few new positions to our collection of mutually enjoyable experiences.

He also decided to indulge and ordered breakfast in bed. We had strawberries, dark purple plums, and sex.

Our suite contains a bedroom, a general living area with sofas and a low table, an office-like space with a desk and two terminals, our own dining area with a long table, several chairs, and a wetbar, and a balcony that opens to a view of the pool. The artificial sky stretches high above, mimicking the weather of a different planet every hour. Pavel and Sulu mentioned that they plan on making use of the pool sometime today.

The bathroom contains a spacious shower that has every imaginable setting, and a jacuzzi that Jim is eager to make use of later. I am not particularly enthusiastic about the prospect of wasting so much water. Jim will likely insist that I join him, however.

"This is awesome," he kissed a spot between my shoulderblades. "Best mission I've ever had. We should send a thank you note or something to Number One."

"We should wait until Sherman's Planet is secure."

"This tournament's going to last at least a week. Maybe nine days. Pavel's doing good. His playing is solid."

I made a sound of satisfaction as Jim's fingers followed the line of my spinal column.

"You like that?"

"Yes."

I felt him smile through his touch, but we were both content not to have it escalate.

"What do you want to do today?"

"I would not be averse to seeing the entirety of K7 and the other stations of the Casino Collective."

"Play the tourist?"

"Gather observations about this unique system and environment."

"I'm up for that. Let's take a shower—"

"Sonic."

"Water."

"You may shower first."

"Come on, Spock."

"I do not desire to get wet at this moment."

"Fine. I'll shower, you do sonics. And then we'll head out. Bones and Chris might be interested in coming along."

"Jim, as much as I enjoy spending time with the others, the prospect of traveling in a pack is not particularly appealing to me."

He laughed.

"We've got to go with someone though, or the cameras'll be all over us."

"I do not believe it will matter."

* * *

I am the son of a diplomat, the product of an experimental procedure that allowed my mother and father to produce a child. I am a decorated Starfleet officer, a member of an endangered species, widely respected in my fields of expertise. I am used to attention, as I have always been the center of it in some form.

Nevertheless, I find myself longing for the privacy of our quarters, our ship, the elusive reaches of deep space.

We have arranged for private transport, of course. No member of the press or paparazzi are allowed into the facilities we visit. However, the explosion of flashbulbs as we emerge from the vehicle is disconcerting. The jostling of cameras and hands reaching out to touch, people asking for autographs and personal mementos are disturbing. It causes me to step closer to Jim and Christine, who graciously agreed to join us. Jim takes it all in stride, but the invasion of my space is something I have never allowed from strangers. It took Jim several months to erode away the gap between us—I grew used to his presence, and then the presence of the crew. That privilege does not extend to the general public.

"Spock, are you okay?"

"I find myself regretting this excursion."

"We can go back. The crowd is a little ridiculous," Christine said.

"I do not desire to remain trapped in our hotel."

"And there he goes," Jim sighed.

"What?" Christine asked.

"He's going on emotional lockdown."

"How can you—oh, I see. Well, we might as well make the best of it and see some of the sights this place is famous. This casino is supposed to have the most amazing aquarium."

"Why not. I'm due for a lecture on marine biology anyway."

I was busy making note of the decor and architecture to respond to Jim's comments.

"I don't understand," Christine replied.

"Just watch. When he's in emotional lockdown, his brain goes on overdrive and everything he says, it's like he's teaching a class. You'll see what I mean."

"Jim, Christine, I believe the aquarium is this way. The selection should prove interesting, especially in light of the recent controversy concerning the ethics of keeping wild animals in captivity, specifically those species that are not endangered."

"See?"

"We're right behind you, Professor Spock," Christine laughed.

* * *

"What did you do to him?" Nyota demanded.

"I didn't do anything!"

"He looks—he looks—"

"Like a Vulcan?" Sulu supplied.

"Like he wants to get rid of all his emotions?" Leonard added.

"There is no need to refer to me in the third person. My auditory and oral faculties have not been compromised. You may address me directly."

"What did you do, Jim?"

"I told you, nothing! He's been like this the whole time we were out."

"Ouch," Sulu said.

I raised an eyebrow.

"To be fair, I learned an awful lot of interesting things," Christine said. "Did you know that according to statistical models, at any given time they think that 1.2% of the Federation's population is drunk?"

"Why on God's green Earth did that come up?"

"I don't remember."

Nyota sighed.

"Well we were going to see one of the new holovids out. Do you want to come with us?"

"I would like to meditate."

"I think I'm going to go work out in the gym for a while."

"Chris? Feel up for it?"

"I'd love to. Let me just use the bathroom, and we can go."

"Do we have any plans for dinner or the evening?" Nyota asked.

"Not that I know of," Leonard answered.

"We'll think of something later. It's not a big deal," Jim said. "When does the poker start up again?"

"Enough time to go see a holovid. Then they're going to be playing poker for eight hours or some ridiculously long time," Leonard replied.

"Eight hours isn't that long for some professionals."

"At that point, Chris, it becomes an exercise in endurance."

"If you'll excuse me," I walked away to go back to our suite.

"I'll see you guys later," Jim said quickly and jogged after me.

He slipped his hand in mine. He resisted asking me anything until we got to the suite.

I entered the sequence, opened the door, and went to the environmental controls to dim the lights and tint the windows.

"Was it really that bad? I know you're used to crowds."

I considered my response.

"I do not understand your reaction to my conduct. The fact that I chose to manage the situation in a manner distinct from your own does not imply that I was severely affected by their presence. It was simply another means of maintaining emotional distance."

"Spock, don't bullshit me. We're on K7. It's supposed to be fun."

"Our attitudes towards these crowds are divergent."

"Was it your telepathy?"

"Partially."

"But that doesn't make sense."

"This was a different type of crowd, Jim. Their emotions were largely uncontrolled and directed entirely at us. The close proximity did not improve matters," I exhaled.

"But you've been in the spotlight before, and I've never seen you shut down that quickly. There's emotional distance, yeah, but you don't act like a robo-tour guide."

"I am accustomed to the attention directed at me containing purpose, whether it is at a lecture imparting information, at a diplomatic gathering discussing the terms of a compromise. I have been singled out in the past for the unique aspect of my biology. I have never, however, been sought after simply because I am famous."

"I don't get it. How's any of that make a difference?"

"How can fame be the basis of an interaction, Jim? I know nothing of these people except that they have seen my image and know my name. In a lecture, I may at least make generalizations concerning those in attendance and if someone should wish to approach me, they may do so by asking a question related to that topic or indicating their interest in that field of study. In diplomacy, the delegates gathered all represent different interests, but they are united in a common purpose of crafting a treaty or resolving a pressing political or economic situation."

"You think they want to interact with you?"

"By their very presence in the crowd, there is an interaction."

"That's what's disturbing you about this? That you don't know what kind of people your fans are?"

"I do not see the logic behind such a one sided interaction. The origin of their admiration is neither in my research nor my office as the commander of the _Enterprise_, but in my image."

"You were the one who told me I'm a symbol of the Federation. Things look different when it's you they're yelling for."

I shook my head.

"Celebrity is distinct from the status of a public figure. One does not consider the president of the Federation to be a celebrity, and one does not think of the star of a holovid serial to be a public figure. All citizens know who the president of the Federation is, but they are not considered to be famous, as celebrities are. Their roles in society and the power they wield are not the same—public figures exert influence in political and economic arenas, while celebrities are associated with culture and entertainment."

"I get it," he nodded. "You're out of your comfort zone. You're used to being a public figure, but you have no idea how to deal with being a celebrity. But for me, the two were already kind of combined in the first place."

"Celebrity has no purpose except to garner attention for the sake of attention, and that is absolutely illogical."

"Not true. You just need to step back and look at this objectively, because fame comes with a lot of soft power."

"Elaborate."

"You can redirect people's attention. If they're glued to your image, you can use your image to bring stuff to their attention, whatever you want. There's lots of celebrities who support causes and their fame brings visibility to those issues. I mean, I think some celebrities have literally gone to some impoverished planet and brought all kinds of extra media attention just by being there. It doesn't have to be overwhelming, Spock."

"You are in a unique position, as you are both a public figure and a celebrity."

"So are you."

"I must admit that I preferred my less visible status."

"You're half Vulcan. It makes sense. I like my privacy too."

A pause.

"We'll figure it out, Spock. We always do. Don't let stuff like that bother you," Jim shrugged. "They want our picture, they want you to sign something. Give interviews and answer all kinds of crazy questions."

"I do not desire to live out the entirety of my life as a spectacle for others. We are already bound by our duties. Our relationship is a not a matter I am willing to share with the public."

"We don't really have a choice. People are going to speculate and take pictures whether we want them to or not. You know that—you're the one who told me."

"I find myself reluctant to give up this illusion of control."

Jim laughed.

"Just ignore it. Okay? Relax and don't think about it." he threaded his fingers through mine. "You trust me on this?"

"Of course."

He kissed me.

"Nyota's pretty good at managing press conferences, stuff like that anyway. And fame's got tons of perks."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Starfleet can't fire us. Not unless we majorly screw up."

"Increased attention from the press leads to increased scrutiny of our conduct."

"We always perform better under pressure," Jim smiled. "Did I tell you? Number One said that the Admiralty's thinking about making a recruiting vid. Starring us."

"You seem pleased by this prospect."

"I think it's fucking hilarious," he laughed, then kissed me again. "We're really photogenic. Especially when you're doing that eyebrow thing."

I gave him a look.

"Yeah, that one. Perfect."

A pause.

"Feel better?"

"You were actively attempting to improve my mood by engaging me in rational discussion?"

Jim shrugged.

"You usually calm down if you can understand the logic behind something, organize it into a system. I was just helping you out."

Comprehension. And amazement.

_You know me. You _know_ me_.

Jim's eyes were brilliantly blue.

_Yeah_.

Through our touch, a sense of giddiness, the way that I'm looking at him inducing contradictory feelings of breathlessness, stomach tightening, desire and soaring, smiling and smirking, lewd thoughts and remembering this morning when we were simply lounging in an ocean of covers and sheets while Jim mentioned offhand that another one of his fantasies is to cover me with chocolate and lick it off, to which I replied that it was an extremely strange fantasy unlikely to ever be realized, to which he replied that he was brilliant and an _even better_ idea would be for me to cover him in chocolate and lick it off, at which point I became exasperated and he laughed.

_Yeah. I know you_.

"Hey, come to the gym with me. I want to spar with someone."

"As long it does not degenerate to something else entirely."

"Can't make any promises."

A pause.

"I am amazed by the sheer number and variety of fantasies you have, Jim."

He grinned.

"You have no idea."

* * *

"Captain?"

"Yeah, Giotto, what's up? Ship's okay?"

"Fine, sir. There's an Undersecretary by the name of Mr. Nilz Baris—"

Jim gave me a look.

"—who's been spamming us with transmissions and falsified reports of Klingons lurking around the grain storage compartments."

"Falsified? How?"

"His reports insist that Klingons have some kind of agent who's going to sabotage the quadrotriticale, but we reviewed the security feeds and talked the guards who've been on duty. The only person who's accessed the storeroom is Mr. Baris' assistant, Arne Darvin, and Mr. Baris himself. Ms. Darvin has all the clearance she needs."

"Lt. Giotto, how often does Ms. Darvin frequent the compartments? And for what purpose?"

"Pretty often, almost every two hours. The guards we've got posted say she's even more paranoid about the grain that he is, talking about how this project could make her career."

"Great. Two paranoid grain maniacs. Just what we need. I don't know why they want guards if _they're _going to hang around the place the entire time."

"There may be some merit to following up on these suspicions, captain. Mr. Baris is neurotic and rather unstable individual, but that does not imply that his fears are unfounded."

"I thought you didn't like him."

"I do not. However, the fact that he is so fixated on this idea—it may indicate something."

"I think this is the first time I've heard you talk that vaguely."

"Mr. Spock has a point though, captain. Even paranoia can have some kind of weird intuition."

"I know that, but we don't _have_ anything to follow up on right now. Isn't that what you've been telling me?"

"Yes, sir."

Jim frowned, fingers tapping against the terminal.

"Tell you what. Assuming this might be real—and it might not—since we don't have anything, why don't you do background checks on the poker players in the tournament. See if they've got anything to gain from a sabotage, what kind of connections they've got. And pull up the medical files of Baris and Darvin. If they're actually crazy paranoid, I don't know if they should be in charge of a project like this. And keep an eye on everything that's going on."

"Would you like for me to open a formal investigation, sir?"

"No. Keep this under wraps. I don't want Baris on your back flooding you with more crap, and if something is going on, I don't want to give them a heads up by sending a squad of people around K7."

"Understood, sir."

"I'll tell the crew to keep their eyes open. Kirk out."


	192. Ch 192

Jim decided, rather than spend all of our time at K7 among the rich and powerful, to spend some time among the regular crew, some of whom were gathered in a large room covered in various vid screens broadcasting the poker game. Furthermore, everyone seems to be in possession of a tribble. Or several, as the case may be.

"Guys? What's with all the tribbles?"

"We got ripped off. Some street vendor named Cyrano Jones was offering them as prizes for five credit blackjack."

"Why's that a ripoff?"

"Because he gets five credits, we get a furball that has an astronomical rate of reproduction. I already have fourteen of these things and I don't know how to make them _stop_."

"I got mine from Lt. Uhura. She was giving them away."

"Want one, captain, Mr. Spock?" Yeoman Barrows pushed a tribble into my hands.

"Thank you, but the captain is allergic to these animals."

The tribble began trilling.

"Oh, _of course_ you'd be allergic," the yeoman smiled.

The creature seemed to trill more as I stroked it.

"A most curious creature, captain. Its trilling seems to have a tranquilizing effect on the Terran nervous system. Fortunately, of course, I am immune to its effect."

I looked up to see Jim and Yeoman Barrows looking at me—Jim grinning widely, Yeoman Barrows attempting to keep a straight face.

I promptly returned the tribble to the yeoman.

Jim could not keep from laughing.

* * *

1: "Pindarus—he truly is one of the best poker players in the Alpha Quadrant. I enjoy watching, I enjoy playing with him, I even enjoy hanging out with him."

2: "Well, nobody seems to want to play this hand, it's folded around. It's Pindarus on the button with jack/ten offsuit. He's gonna raise it up, make it 700K to go."

1: "Now right behind him, Pavel Andreyevich Chekov, rookie player for Starfleet, has ace/ten offsuit, he's gonna make the call."

2: "Well a lotta times you're gonna re-raise a guy that's opening the pot on the button when you hold an ace/ten outta the small blind but Pindarus is gonna get a lot of respect. These guys know he's a great player."

1: "Well Korvin out of the big blind _also_ makes the call. Three-way flop between Chekov, Korvin, and Pindarus. Comes down queen/deuce/deuce."

2: "Not the flop that Pindarus wanted to see. He completely missed it."

1: "Both Chekov and Korvin checked it. Maybe Pindarus thinks 'they don't want this pot—I'll take a swing at it.'"

2: "Yeah, but he doesn't wanna get check-raised here."

1: "Well, Pindarus was the pre-flop raiser. Let's see if he's gonna make a continuation bet in light of both of these players checking to him—but don't forget, he's up against the blinds and there's two deuces on the board. He has to proceed with caution here... And he does just that. He bets 1.2M into a 2.1M pot.

2: "Chekov will also miss this flop. But he has ace high, he's gonna make the call. Wow."

1: "Great instincts by the kid here, he makes the call with ace high."

2: "Korvin gets out."

1: "He's figuring he's good—look at the looks they exchange!" [brief zoom on Pindarus and Chekov's faces]

2: "So heads up to Chekov and Pindarus, here's the turn. Turns a seven of diamonds."

1: "Well that changes nothing. Chekov still has the best hand by a mile here. Chekov's first, he checks. See if Pindarus can take another swing at this. He knows that if he makes a big enough bet, he can probably move Chekov off it."

2: "Well neither player has anything."

1: "Well it takes a good player to fire out a bluff at a pot, but it takes a really special player to fire out a _second_ bullet into a pot."

2: "Well Pindarus's thinking about that right now. Pindarus wants to win this pot. He's already invested a couple million in it. And you know Pindarus started the handoff. Just under one million, so this is a decent portion of his stack. He doesn't want to give it up here, but at the same time, he doesn't want to lose anymore chips. So now you've gotta decide if you're Pindarus, do I take that second shot? But at the same time, if I'm wrong, meaning if I get called, I'm gonna give up a signifcant portion of my stack."

1: "He says kid, I'm a Galactic Series champion. When I bet—you fold."

2: "In poker, your job is to make good decisions and Pindarus is _famous_ for making good decisions. Right here he decides it. 2.2M is gonna do the job. It is a great bet, I don't see how Chekov can call now."

1: Well Chekov's a nine to one favorite, but he can't know that. He has ace high."

2: "But if you're Pavel Chekov, you're asking to yourself—look, this is Pindarus. He'll makes plays at me and is just trying to run me over?"

1: "And when a player like Pindarus bets into you _twice_ now, you gotta run for the hills."

2: "Well it looks like he's gonna make the call _again_!"

1: "Oh my gosh, Pavel Chekov's my hero! He makes a call with _ace high_!"

2: "That is unbelievable. What great instincts this kid has. What table presence this kid has."

1: "The river is a third diamond—it's the five of diamonds."

2: "Well it's pretty much a blank here."

1: "Chekov's turn, and"

"I am all in."

1: "And Chekov says he's all in! We know he has the best hand but what a move! He doesn't know that Pindarus has nothing and Chekov has him beat."

2: "Wow."

1: "Pindarus's gonna lay the hand down. Chekov now outplaying the veteran, the Galactic Series champion and a heck of a player, Pindarus. Chekov, just played him right there."

2: "What a great hand of poker, Pavel Chekov playing that like a seasoned pro. The nineteen year old kid, take a pot away from Pindarus, the Galactic champ."

1: "And what a great hand to end the first quarter play on the second day. But all these players will be back in second quarter action, jockeying for position because they all have Sherman's planet in their sights."

* * *

"Look, Chekov, it was a great play, but _all in_? Seriously? This is single elimination—once you're out, you can't go back in."

"Keptan—"

"I'm not saying you should never go all in again, but think about it more next time. That was a sweet move, but—and I can't believe I'm saying this—don't play recklessly. You're solid. Don't rush. Got it?"

"Understood, keptan."

"Now if you were betting with tribbles, no problem. Go for it all the time."

"I think, Jim, that the object of poker with tribbles would be to lose as quickly as possible."

"That would be wery strange, playing poker backwards."

* * *

3: "Now let's head back to the tables on the third day of playing, where Pavel Chekov, who's pretty much taken a back seat today after that amazing play yesterday, is playing a hand with Guilu. Chekov's made trip queens on a turn, bet 1.5M, Guilu with a full house raised to 3M. Action on Chekov."

4: "Everyone thought that Chekov would play more aggressively after going head to head against Pindarus, but he's been playing solidly. Let's see what he does here."

3: "Chekov does make the call. These two will see a river card. The river is a five of hearts, Guilu's going to win this with full house."

"Check."

3: "Chekov checks. Guilu now, Orion amateur—" [laughter] "—with the hands shaking, that's 3M."

Pavel shakes his head slightly. "_Vot._ You are hafing something. _Nye znayu, vot_."

4: "Well these are two rookies going against each other, but Guilu is a world series rookie but he messed Chekov up, I think, by checking the flop coyly when he hit his set. This is a tough one to lay down for Chekov. Trip queens, good kicker, big pot."

3: "Is Guilu holding his breath?"

4: "Looks like it."

Pavel stares at Guilu, frowns.

"Go ahead."

3: "And Chekov is gonna fold, he lays down trip queens against a full house, wow, but that just shows _great_ instinct by the rookie Russian."

4: "Chekov making good plays even when he loses."

* * *

"My God, Jim, it's an infestation! I can't go anywhere that isn't overrun by tribbles!"

Jim sneezed.

"Tell me something new, Bones."

"Have you been giving him the hypos?" Leonard demanded.

"I have."

Scotty joined us, carrying a load of tribbles.

"The nearest I can figure, they've gotten into the air vents. The hotel staff and K7 engineers are scrambling to get hold of the situation before it spins out of control."

"It's already out of control!"

"Bones—ouch."

"What, you've developed an ear infection or something? I thought you said you were giving him hypos, you confounded elf!"

"Doctor, I assure you I have. Evidently the overwhelming number of tribbles has strained the captain's immune system."

"That's it, I'm beaming back to the _Enterprise_ and figuring these things out. And getting you stronger medication."

Jim simply leaned into me, miserable.

"Aye, I think I should go with him and see if I can't give these lad and ladies a hand. It's gotten into some of their life support machinery and replicators. The Sanitation Committees would have a fit, seeing the state of this place."

"Make sure there aren't any tribbles on my ship," Jim rubbed his eyes.

I immediately pulled his hand away. It would only inflame his eyes further, and they were already quite red.

"I hate you."

I kept his hand in mine.

"Maybe you should come with us, captain," Scotty suggested.

"Nah. I'll be okay. The tribbles haven't gotten to our suite."

"Yet," Leonard eyed the trilling bits of fur. "I don't know how much it'll help if they're in the air vents."

"I'll be okay."

Leonard rolled his eyes.

"Your funeral."

"By the way Jim, the Klingons are up in arms, trying to find this Cyrano Jones character. They think it's a diplomatic affront and they're demanding with Lurry to scour the place high and low for the fellow."

"Why?" Jim asked, interest piqued.

"I've seen it happen a few times myself—the tribbles start screeching at the poor lugs. The furballs go beside themselves with tribbly fury."

"What? These things couldn't hurt a fly."

"I am uncertain of that verdict, Leonard. They have induced a severe allergic reaction in at least one individual and pose a threat to the welfare of K7 as a whole."

"Hah," Jim said weakly. "Didn't think of _this_ security threat, did you?"

"I will make sure to take it into account in the future."

"He means it, too. Damn Vulcan."

"Well, at least some good has come of this. The tournament's been delayed until the tribbles are cleaned. It'll give our 'Russian rookie' time to rest up a bit, splash around in the pool."

"Full of tribbles."

"He and Sulu'll probably play tribble-poker. Sulu will lose. And by that I mean win."

"Get him to bed, Spock. And don't you dare crack some joke right now, Jim. I'll be back with a pack of hypos."

* * *

The final table has been whittled down to five players.

The tribble situation is manageable, though Scotty and Leonard are still working on the respective solutions to their problems.

"I blame this all on you, lieutenant. You got the first tribble," Jim sat at the dining table, hair slick with water, shirt and pants hanging a little loose on him.

"In my defense, I didn't know they were born pregnant," Nyota replied.

"Jim," I motioned to him to pull up his shirt sleeve.

"So Bones figured out what's going on?"

He winced slightly as I injected him with a series of hypos.

"I got the transmission this morning, while you were," she looked between me and Jim.

"Hey, I've been sick. I was sleeping."

I packed the hypos away, then got a glass of juice for Jim and two cups of tea for myself and Nyota.

"I know. Just teasing," she smiled. "But anyway, Leonard said that about fifty percent of their metabolism is geared for reproduction."

"Fascinating."

"Isn't it? You just have to feed them and they're practically guaranteed to reproduce. They're hermaphroditic and can basically reproduce at will."

"So all they do is eat, masturbate, get pregnant, and have more babies?"

Nyota rolled her eyes at Jim's expression.

"Jim, hermaphroditic creatures have all reproductive organs necessary for conception, but that does not imply that they mate with themselves. It is evolutionarily unviable, as genetic variety would be severely restricted."

"Okay. So they eat, have sex, _both_ get pregnant, and there are twice as many babies. Same thing."

"There is a biological difference."

"Technicalities," he shrugged.

"It kind of makes me curious about their evolutionary development. I mean, their native environment must be full of predators if they're able to reproduce so much. They were probably towards the bottom of the food chain."

"Indeed. Now that their multiplicative proclivities have no restraining factors, the population has exploded."

"Oh, and another thing. Giotto sent a message. He says that Baris has gone absolutely crazy about the tribbles, saying that it's an enormous Klingon conspiracy. The Klingons are saying that this was our, and by 'our' they mean the Federation's, plan all along."

"Is his grain safe?"

"Scotty's installed some special filters that are supposed to keep the tribbles out. Giotto's decided to put three more guards on the grain. And Arne Darvin's been hovering around everything like a nervous bat. It's driving Scotty insane."

Nyota paused.

"What? What is it?"

"Hm?"

"You've got that look on your face. Like you've got a hunch about something but you aren't 100 percent sure."

"Is it the same look that Spock gets?" she smiled.

"No. His is more 'I'm 98.6 percent sure that I'm right but I might really regret telling Jim because it'll probably lead to crazy shit going down' in it."

I raised an eyebrow.

Jim winked.

"So?"

"Well, have you ever met Arne Darvin?"

"We have not."

"I talked to her briefly a few times. Her accent—the way she pronounced certain words of Standard..."

"...and?"

"It reminded me of Gaila. I mean, just an Orinic accent in general. But she doesn't look like an Orion at all."

"No green skin?"

"No pheromones either. Even the best pheromone suppressants don't get rid of it completely. There's just something off about her."

"Send a transmission to Giotto to get those background checks done, especially focusing on Darvin and what's his name? The guy you got the tribble from?"

"Cyrano Jones."

"You suspect something, Jim?" I asked.

"Yeah," he paused. "Yeah, I definitely suspect something, and I should've seen this coming. Because the Orions have been really quiet about everything. Both their players have been eliminated from table and they haven't tried to do anything, haven't protested or said anything."

"And they want Sherman's planet as much as us or the Klingons," Nyota snapped her fingers. "I should have noticed that."

"We've been pretty distracted by these tribbles."

"What do you believe they are planning?"

"I don't know," Jim ran his hand through his hair. "But this thing is escalating perfectly between the Klingons and the Federation. Anything could be on the table."

* * *

5: "Yl'Tomromoj has opened this pot up for a raise 5M. Over to Chekov in the big blind 1.5M more to call."

6: "And here's what Chekov's thinking too—he may play some weaker hands now because he has a read on Yl'Tomromoj. He can now play the five/seven suited or the king/ten offsuit because he knows that he can take pots away from Yl'Tomromoj, or to trap him."

5: "Isn't it dangerous to bump heads with the chip leader? The only guy who's got you covered?"

6: "No. No, not at all not if you're reading him right."

7: "Eight/eight/three."

6: "Chekov can easily have led a ten/eight/two to here."

7: "Would you lead at this pot if you had the ten/eight, or would you check-raise?"

"Check," Pavel nods.

"Six million"

6: "Check because there's a good chance that Yl'Tomromoj has nothing here."

7: "And the Russian did check."

"I don't like my hand very much so I'll put in these."

6: "You hear that?"

Chekov pauses, looking at his chips.

5: "Yl'Tomromoj talking, saying he doesn't like his hand much—"

6: "'So I'll put in the 250K credit chips."

5: [chuckles] "And Chekov has called him here, eight/eight/three with a couple of diamonds. Where you do have Chekov now?"

7: "This is almost a 40M credit pot now, guys."

6: "Chekov could easily have a three, he could easily have an eight, he could easily have diamonds."

7: "There's a deuce on the turn. Chekov first to bet—he checks again."

6: "Somehow Chekov seems strong to me. Look at his face."

7: "Check from Yl'Tomromoj, here comes the river. It's a queen of spades. No flushes possible."

6: "If Chekov bets about 7.2M, I think he has an eight."

5: "But he checks."

7: "Chekov checks again."

6: "Wow."

7: "9M bet from Yl'Tomromoj. Any ideas?"

6: "Well this is where Chekov has to use his read. He may have had a three on the flop and now he has to decide did Yl'Tomromoj hit a queen or not."

7: "Yl'Tomromoj sitting back in his chair taking water. Does that mean anything to you?"

5: "Is he feinting comfort?"

6: "Not necessarily, I haven't watched Yl'Tomromoj play much. But Chekov has, so Chekov has to make a decision here. We're just gonna say that Chekov has a three. Did Yl'Tomromoj hit the queen or not?"

7: "Yl'Tomromoj could be betting a hand and needs the bet to win the pot."

Pavel looks at the pot, looks at Yl'Tomromoj.

7: "Maybe a busted flush draw? Which he could have, a hand like queen/nine of diamonds, and hit the queen on the river."

"You are maybe hafing a queen. It cannot be helped."

6: "Yup, can't help it."

"You have a queen?" Yl'Tomromoj asks.

6: "Course he doesn't have a queen. Now it sounds like he has two fives or ace three or something

"Maybe," smile, shrug.

Yl'Tomromoj leans back.

"I probably don't have an eight," he pauses. "Definitely don't have deuce/three."

6: "All this talking's gonna help Chekov's read, I can tell you that much for sure."

5: "Well Yl'Tomromoj's done quite a bit of that."

"I might just, I just have a couple of—"

"Couple of king/queens?" Pavel supplied.

7: "Uh oh. I think he was on a busted flush draw but made a pair of queens on the river."

6: "I'm thinking he hit a queen."

"I'll show you," Yl'Tomromoj smiled and motioned.

6: "I'll show you, oooh."

"I've been showing a lot of bluffs. I don't mind showing."

Pavel shrugs.

7: "What do you think now?"

6: "I think Yl'Tomromoj should shut up."

"I was thinking of calling it anyway," Pavel nods.

"All right then," he motions to turn over his cards.

"_Podozhditye_, wait. I haf not called yet."

[laughter]

"_Nu horosho, davai_. I am calling it."

5: "Chekov makes the call and—"

7: "Chekov shows, two/three, one pair—"

"You're good," Yl'Tomromoj says.

6: "Wow."

5: "He makes the call and it is good!"

6: "Nice play."

7: "Chekov who debuted at this tournament, the play of the tournament—"

6: "Now the great thing about that call is that it shows Chekov's move from a few days ago wasn't a fluke, he really has that skill."

5: "A lot of people have been wondering how the rookie got this far into the tournament for Sherman's planet and Yl'Tomromoj finally challenging the nineteen year old—"

6: "Exactly. Now he knows he can't bluff Chekov. And Chekov's known that Yl'Tomromoj would try to bluff him. He made a great call there and all of a sudden everybody at the table going in these last rounds is like 'holy mother of a supernova'."

7: "And Chekov was calling with a low pair from the flop—he won't have to make another great call, they won't be bluffing at him. Now they might even raise more pots because they're all afraid of him."

5: "Wow."

6: "That might be the—if Chekov wins this, it could be the key hand of the tournament right there."


	193. Ch 193

"Someone's gonna tell me."

Sulu, Scotty, and a party of _Enterprise_ crewmembers stood at attention before Jim. Around them was a ruined bar, glasses shattered, tables overturned, chairs broken, decorative lighting fixtures hanging loose from the ceiling.

"You guys think you have a choice. But you don't. So spill."

Absolute silence.

Jim walked down the line. Sulu had a split lip and a bruise forming on his cheek, Scotty looked as though he had taken quite a beating. Clothes were ripped, hair helter skelter, noses bleeding. One crewmember was cradling her arm, though she otherwise stood in perfect military posture.

I merely stood and stared at those gathered. Apparently, the crew have become quite adept at avoiding eye contact with me. Freeman glanced, then looked away.

"Ensign Freeman," I stepped toward him.

He flinched slightly.

"Freeman," Jim honed in on him. "Who started it."

"I—I don't know, sir."

"Yeah you do. Come on. Who started it."

"No one, sir."

"Try again."

"I don't know, sir."

"Valkenier," Jim snapped at the woman holding her arm. "Tell."

"I don't know, sir."

"I'm issuing a direct order right now."

"I don't know, sir."

"This is going down in your file."

"I don't know, sir."

Jim glared.

"All of you, you just got your leave revoked. Report back to ship to Giotto. He's got orders. Dismissed. Sulu, Scotty, stay here."

The crew straightened, gave crisp salutes, and efficiently filed out.

Silence reigned.

"Do Spock and I really need to play good cop/bad cop? We'll do it if we have to. We've gotten pretty good."

Nothing.

"Scotty? You, in a bar fight?"

"I can throw a punch just as well as the next man, captain."

"_Klingons_, Scotty. _Klingons_. They're twice as big as you!"

"When's size every stopped you, captain?"

"The guy was about to bash in your head with a table."

"Nah. I had it under control."

"It was you, wasn't it!"

Scotty managed to control his reaction, but Sulu did not. His head tilted, the movement unconscious. Jim looked at me, and I simply returned his gaze. That was all the confirmation he needed.

"_Why_? Why the hell did you guys start a bar brawl with the Klingons? This is turning in a diplomacy mess—you know that? Two of my senior officers assault Klingons who're just there for drinks."

"It wasn't like that, Jim," Sulu protested.

"Then what the fuck went down, lieutenant, because I am two seconds away from assigning you to our next diplomatic mission."

A pause.

"They insulted us, sir."

Jim looked at them, unconvinced.

"An insult."

"Yes, sir."

"Klingons trade insults with aliens all the time. Give me a better story. It better be a really good story, if you—" Jim pointed at Scotty, "started it all. Did they insult Nyota or something?"

"Well... is this off the record, captain?" Scotty asked.

I touched Jim.

_In truth, I would also consider attacking a Klingon who insulted Nyota_.

"No, it's not off the record."

_You'd consider it, but you wouldn't actually do it. You're you. You'd find some other way to get back at them without causing massive property damage._

"They insulted Lt. Chekov first, sir. Said that he was cheating. I don't know how, but one of the Klingons knew that his brother got killed in a firefight against them, and made some comments about it. I couldn't let that slide, sir."

"You didn't throw the first punch."

"Aye, I stopped him."

Sulu, if possible, straightened more.

"He told me it wasn't worth starting a fight over, sir. And then they called you a tin-plated overbearing swaggering dictator pretty-boy with delusions of godhood, sir."

"And compared you to a Denebian slime devil," Scotty added.

Jim's eyebrows went up.

"That's a pretty sweet insult."

"I thought so too, sir."

It is fascinating that Sulu, as a pilot and part of the Command team, is conducting himself strictly according to standard military protocol while Scotty, always an engineer and something of an anarchist, addresses Jim much more casually. It is no wonder he was exiled to Delta Vega.

"But you didn't throw the first punch then either."

"No, captain," Scotty said, apologetic.

"You guys are setting me up for some kind of climactic point here. Come on. Keep talking."

"Well, captain, then they said Nyota was shrill controlling power-hungry whore who slept her way to the top and didn't have the competence of a slime mold."

"That's weak," Jim shook his head. "They went for that stereotype?"

"They got kind of graphic about her legs, sir," Sulu grimaced.

"And you still refrained from attacking the Klingons, Mr. Scott. Most admirable."

"Thank you Spock," he smiled. "I thought so too. Nyota can defend herself better than I can, and probably think of more original insults."

"Where was she?" I asked.

"Lt. Uhura and Nurse Chapel were treating themselves to a day at the spa, sir."

"Scotty, I swear to god that if you don't start talking right now about why you started this fight, I'm gonna lock you up in the brig for a week."

"They called the _Enterprise_ a garbage scow!"

He was completely indignant.

Jim gaped. Sulu kept a perfectly neutral mask.

"What?"

"Exactly!"

"You started a fight with the Klingons, who're already pissed off about the tribbles and are looking for an excuse to start something, because they called the _Enterprise_ a garbage scow?!"

"Captain, this was a matter of pride!"

Jim looked torn between amusement and a headache.

"Scotty, I'm lending you to the Klingons."

"But captain—!"

"The hotel they're staying at needs to be de-tribbled and you're gonna be the one to do it. Don't argue with me, I'm going to have a talk with Koloth so finish up things here and pack whatever you need. And no tricks."

"Aye, sir."

"Sulu, you work with the management of this place and get this mess fixed and cleaned up. How much have you been winning at craps?"

"A lot, sir."

"Then you foot 60 percent of the bill for repair."

"And the other 40 percent, sir?"

"Sending it to the Klingons. It takes two to tango."

* * *

"We've got a confirmation, sir. Arne Darvin doesn't exist in Federation records until approximately five years before she got her job at the Department of Interior. There are no medical records, not even a file in the Fed healthcare system. Vocal analysis by computers and by Lt. Uhura confirm the match as a typical Orinic accent."

"And Cyrano Jones?" Nyota asked.

"A wanderer who's spent an awful lot of time dealing with the Orions. He's a merchant, so that explains some of it, but his appearance here along with the timing of the distribution of tribbles can't be a coincidence."

"Only Orions would think of using fucking tribbles to cause interstellar warfare," Jim rolled his eyes.

"One must credit them for being creative, if our suspicions are correct. However, it is not clear to me what they hope to gain out of this scheme. To gain Sherman's Planet, it would be more efficient to win, to assassinate those who are likely to win, or to buy out one or several of the players."

"Assassination would be going against their status as a technically neutral system," Christine frowned. "It would be considered an act of aggression against both the Federation and the Klingons."

"It has not prevented them from doing so in the past."

"No, this is a really public event. Orions don't want that kind of press," Jim shook his head. "There's something else."

"Then my other two possibilities still stand."

"One of the things I remember Gaila told me is that Orions never do anything for just one reason. And they like to do things sideways."

"What? She never said anything like that to me."

Nyota ignored that comment.

"Could you clarify what you mean, Lt. Uhura?" Giotto asked through the transmission.

"She means, or at least I think she means, that Orions are very good a convoluted plots that don't seem to make sense and putting up fronts," Christine replied. "Take the Syndicate, for example. The Federation's pretty sure that it's actually the slave women who are actually in control of the entire operation, but they still don't know for certain. That system doesn't make any sense to us, but it's kept the Syndicate running strong for decades now."

"Okay," Jim nodded. "So what have the Orions gained so far from this scheme?"

"Well, there's already tension between the Klingon Empire and the Federation. It's always in their interest to have two systems at each other's throats, since it ensures that the balance of power never turns against them."

"I concur with Nyota's analysis. Additionally, it diverts resources away from both government's crackdown on illegal markets. That campaign has likely already hurt the Syndicate financially."

"But why tribbles? And why the Department of the Interior?" Giotto frowned. "I agree with your analysis, sir, but there's still holes in our theory. And I have to point out that we shouldn't overlook the Klingons in this. We don't have much evidence against them, but I think we have even less evidence against the Orions."

"Tribbles because they look harmless to Fed citizens," Jim ticked off fingers. "They're practically free since they keep having babies, they're low maintenance, and Klingons hate them, so you've to cultural misunderstandings right there. And, like we've been seeing for the past few days, they can really disrupt a system like K7."

"Disrupted almost right before the final game," Nyota added. "So they'd be able to gauge which players they should make offers to."

"Elaborate for me."

"It's stupid to sponsor a player because that costs huge amounts of credits and they might lose; but it's risky to approach pro players right from the beginning—they might talk to someone if they're eliminated. The smartest thing to do is to wait a while, when they can make deals with more players—they've been awfully chatty with some of the players, probably getting to know them—and increase their chances of buying Sherman's planet off."

"It almost makes me wonder how they came across tribbles in the first place," Christine said. "This kind of controlled chaos must have been simulated over and over."

"They're the middlemen. If anyone discovers tribbles, it's gonna be the Orions. Any ideas about Baris, Darvin, and the quadrotriticale?"

A pause.

"None," Nyota shook her head. "Chris?"

"I really can't think of anything either."

"Perhaps," I paused, compiling data and theories and the models that were running in my head. "Dr. McCoy stated that 50 percent of the tribbles' metabolism goes towards reproduction. What we have not looked into is the question of how much a tribble must consume in order to reproduce in the first place. Quadrotriticale, as a high yield grain, is rich in nutrients and caloric content. It is possible that the project put forward by Mr. Baris was not mandated by the Federation at all—"

"That would explain why we never got any kind of information or heads up about this project—"

"Precisely, captain. If Ms. Darvin is indeed an Orion plant, she may have been able to manipulate the systems and create a false project."

"She maneuvered Mr. Baris into ordering the grain—" Nyota

"Made him believe that it was such an important mission for colonizing Sherman's planet—" Christine

"While the whole fucking time, _we've_ been feeding this tribble population and _guarding_ it—"

"Which is why they keep popping up in the most random places—" Christine

"Quadrotriticale is also a relatively expensive grain. The Orions have successfully wasted millions of credits not only in having the Federation pay for the expense of maintaining and facilitating the explosion in tribble population, but also in shipping and storage."

"Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck_. We've been played."

"Problem, sir."

"What is it, Giotto?"

"The readings in the grain storage compartments have been steady. If these tons of quadrotriticale are being used to feed the tribbles, then why haven't we seen any changes in volume and weight measurements?"

"As I recall, Lt. Giotto, you reported that Ms. Darvin has been frequenting the area every two hours?"

"Yes. And she," everything came together. "And she's been looking over the computer terminals to 'check' the grain—damnit! Sorry, sir, I should've noted and reported that earlier."

"No, you're good. There's only one place to go for confirmation. Giotto, what kind of evidence do we need to put together to arrest Darvin?"

"I'm starting a file right now sir. It shouldn't be a problem."

"Then send down security teams with orders to arrest her. Put her in the brig."

"Got it, sir."

"I'll contact you if I need anything else. Kirk out."

The screen blanked.

"Chris, you beam up and do whatever tests you need to do to confirm that she's a surgically modified Orion."

"Aye, sir," Christine left immediately.

"Nyota, I want transmissions to Number One and Shaw. Bring Koloth up to speed on everything too, before something else happens."

"On it."

"Spock, we're going to go find Baris. He'll probably want to see this."

* * *

"What do you mean!" Baris sputtered as he followed us down to the storage rooms. "A fake project? My assistant?"

"That's our theory, Mr. Baris."

"Kirk, you should have known! You are responsible for turning the development project into a total disaster!"

"Mr. Baris, the point is that there was no project from the beginning," I answered.

"No! You've insulted me, ignored me, walked all over me. You've abused your authority in every way and you never listened to any of my requests. I'm going to hold you accountable."

"You do that, Mr. Baris. I've got bigger things to worry about right now," Jim stopped. "At ease, Lt. Xumani, Lt. Gaojian. Has anyone been here recently?"

"Only Ms. Darvin, sir. No one else."

"Do you recall what she did while she was here?"

"The usual. She checked up on the computers," Lt. Xumani answered.

"Four hours ago, she said there was something installed improperly by Engineer Scott, so Ensign Ujrielaa and Lt. Taymson helped her fix it."

Jim and I exchanged looks.

"Thank you, Lt. Gaojian. Stay at your stations. I'll call you if we need any help."

"Understood, sir."

Storage compartment one—

Jim opened the door. Empty. There is evidence of tampering.

"Spock, computers."

A quick diagnostic check reveals that the programming has been compromised.

Storage compartment two—

Empty.

Storage compartment three—

"These tribbles must eat a shitload. All of these are empty."

"The estimated tribble population is 94, 771, 561, given approximated birth and death rates."

"Holy shit."

"Given those numbers, it is not surprising that there is no grain left."

Storage compartment four—

"McCoy to Kirk."

"Kirk here. What's up?"

"It's confirmed. She's an Orion."

"Wow, that was fast."

"What did you think I'd have to do?"

"There wasn't any kind of complicated procedure?"

"No. As soon security brought her up, I just waved my tricorder at her. You can change how a person looks all you want, but you can't go rearranging their organs."

Storage compartment five—

Empty.

"She's Orion, clear as day. That would be why she avoided Fed hospitals at all cost. The pheromone suppressant's wreaked havoc on her body, messed with her brain chemistry to the point where Chris and I think she's developed a serious mental disorder."

"Wow. That sucks. It'd explain the paranoia."

"Thought you'd like to know."

"Thanks. Kirk out."

Mr. Baris seemed shell shocked.

"Well, at least she wasn't a very smart criminal," Jim said, opening the sixth storage compartment, which was again, empty. "That, combined with this digital trail? I wonder how the Orions'll get outta this one."

"It will be more difficult linking Ms. Darvin to the Orions. Much of our theorization stands to reason but in terms of evidence, I suspect it will be difficult to find a connection. It will seem that Ms. Darvin was acting as an independent agent, as with the case of Cyrano Jones."

Jim opened the sixth compartment. Empty.

"Why'm I not surprised. They're really thorough."

"Are you referring to the tribbles or the Orions?"

"Both," he pushed against the seventh compartment's door. "This one's stuck."

"Perhaps if you try the overhead door—"

"Yeah, got it—" Jim yelped.

Tribbles mixed with grain rained down on Jim, flooded out of the compartment door and he tried to close it shut, but it was no use. The tribbles poured out, the stream of furballs unending.

"Spock, help me out here?"

If I were Terran, I would be laughing. As I am Vulcan, I simply stood in place and watched tribbles pile up around Jim, burying him completely.

When the tribble downpour finally ended, Jim was chest deep in tribbles, unable to move.

He glared at me.

I resisted the urge to wade over and kiss him.

"Stop laughing."

"I am not laughing, captain."

"Just shut up and help me get out of here."

"Of course."

I did not move.

Jim began throwing tribbles at me.

I avoided them neatly.

"I will call the security guards to assist you."

"Damnit, Spock," he began pelting me with tribbles as I drew out my communicator. "I'm not melding with you tonight."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Jim, I assure you—seeing you thus is well worth the cost."

He glared. Then sneezed.

"I take that back. We're not melding for a _week_."


	194. Ch 194

8: "And I can't believe it. After uncovering the Orion scandal, both Yl'Tomromoj and Rennesaph have been disqualified from the game. It's Pavel Chekov, the nineteen year old lieutenant for Starfleet up against the Higami and Korvin."

9: "This is really anyone's game now. With Yl'Tomromoj, who was the favorite to win this match, eliminated, Sherman's Planet is up for grabs. It could be Higami, the veteran player, two time winner of the Interstellar Poker Tournament."

8: "But Chekov's proved himself to be quite the player in these past few games. He's been making solid plays, great bets, and both Higami and Korvin know that he has the read on them. The kid is just amazing. What a way to make a debut."

9: "Well I think Korvin's out of the running. He's got the least number of chips. It'll be a match between Chekov and Higami."

8: "Two very different players. Higami likes to chat a lot, try and psych his opponents out—"

9: "I think Chekov really uses that to his advantage. We saw how he was able to read Yl'Tomromoj before, making that amazing call—"

8: "Well you have to remember, though, that Higami's been able to bluff Chekov a couple of times before. They weren't what you'd call key moments, but Chekov's reads aren't perfect."

9: "True. But here come the players, for this final round—the match that will decide everything and who gets to take home Sherman's Planet."

* * *

"He's losing," Sulu ran his hand through his hair and pulled at his dress coat. "Higami keeps messing him up with all that talk."

"Jim, you've got to make a decision," Leonard urged. "Before Higami makes some kind of all in move. Chekov's not reading this guy right."

Silence.

Jim's face was grim as he watched Higami take another pot.

"One more hand," he finally said. "One more hand and if he loses again, I'm sending Chris in."

* * *

"I'm sorry, keptan."

"Hey, nothing to be sorry about. You did great, got us this far. You're just tired, especially with all this Orion crap that went down."

"Higami is knowing how to get under my skin. I do not understand how."

"Don't worry about it, lad," Scotty pushed a glass into Pavel's hand. "Here have this. Relax, and enjoy the show."

"This? You are giwing me wodka?"

"It'll never be as good as scotch," Scotty raised his glass.

"Ha. That is only what you can expect from an engineer," Pavel raised his.

They toasted, drained their glasses, and smiled.

* * *

9: "This is such an unprecedented move by Captain Kirk, _switching players_ in the final game. What do you think, do you think he was planning it this way all along?"

8: "You know, I wish I'd gotten to see him play at this tournament. I honestly don't know, and I don't know if anyone could tell you."

9: "We're on the line with one of the admirals, Admiral Pike from Starfleet right now. Admiral, do you think this was his plan all along?"

Pike: "You can never tell with James Kirk, but I'd say no. He's making this up as he goes along, just like he always does."

8: "Admiral, don't you think it's risky to do this, putting in a completely new player who hasn't participated at all at any point during the games."

Pike: "It's a hell of a risk. Half of HQ over here is tearing their hair out. But I trust his instinct. Obviously he thinks Christine Chapel can win this."

8: "So she _is_ in to stay? She's not just acting like a stop guard to keep Chekov from bleeding chips."

Pike: "With stakes this high, she's the one."

8: "Thank you very much Admiral."

Pike: "My pleasure."

9: "I mean, clearly Higami doesn't really know what to do with her. He's never seen her play, he doesn't know her tells, doesn't know what kind of skill she has. He's probably wondering why Kirk's done this in the first place, exactly what kind of game _he's_ playing at."

8: "And he's not the only one. This is just—this has never been done before."

9: "Well she obviously plays really differently from Chekov. I mean, listen to them bantering back and forth before she even plays her first hand. I can't get a read on Chapel at all."

8: "It'll be really interesting to see how she plays."

9: "Higami first to act, looks at ace/queen."

"Let's go baby," Christine smiled, the look predatory. "I need to double up. Thank you Gami, give me some action."

9: "Will you listen to that?"

8: "Did she really just call Higami 'Gami'?"

9: "One thing for sure—she's got a lotta confidence to be talking like that."

8: "Kirk's crew doesn't seem to have a shortage of, do they?" [laughter] "From the small blind, 9M."

"How much?" she eyed the pile of chips.

"I give you all the action you need, Chrissy."

9: "And Higami is responding!"

"That's so kind of you."

9: "He doesn't actually need to give action at this point. He's the clear chip leader, he can afford to ease back a little and see how Christine Chapel plays."

8: "I think she's baiting him, you know? It sounds like she's reading him."

9: "Pocket fives for Christine Chapel in the big blind."

8: "She's got the advantage of being able to watch Higami all through the tournament."

9: "Well they haven't tangoed yet."

8: "Chapel looks like she's thinking about it with the pocket fives."

"I call."

9: "Again the battle of the blinds, and she's relatively chip healthy. Chekov was losing, but that's still a considerable pile there she's got."

8: "Small pocket pair against two over cards, it's pretty much a coin flip. The _Enterprise_ crew looking on nearby there in the crowd. And now the flop—is queen/five/six—a set of fives for Christine Chapel."

9: "And that is trouble with a capital 'T' for Higami who has top pair/top kicker, and if I were Himagi at this point I'd ask Chapel for an engagement ring—he's looked at her enough to make a commitment."

8: "Higami with a bet of another 9M."

"Call."

8: "Chapel with a set of fives just makes the call."

9: "Remember Higami here top pair, top kicker, and little chance."

8: "All right, so Chapel, with a huge advantage, to the turn a king gives her the win. Higami cannot win this hand unless he pushes Chapel off it. And he checks."

9: "Now, Chapel could wait, or she could push right here."

8: "She's going to put out 12M in chips."

9: "Remember Higami is drawing _dead_."

8: "He could fold and wait to make a play later."

Silence. Higami looked at Christine, who smiled.

"I'll give a little more action. I feel sorry for a pretty girl like you, so why not."

9: "Higami raises to 107M!"

8: "That's got to be half his stack right there—"

9: "Oh my goodness what a misstep from Higami!"

[cards shown, a close up on Higami's reaction]

8: "This is one of the few times Higami's ever played this recklessly. The first time, it cost him only a couple million, this time it'll cost him a _lot_ more."

9: "What an amazing turn of events here—change in players and a huge win by Christine Chapel!"

8: "And it's a huge psychological blow for Higami to lose so much like to this new player, no longer in that comfort zone he was coasting in against Chekov while Chapel now is in a _very_ comfortable spot."

9: "Christine Chapel, now with the definite chip lead and look at that! A huge portion of Higami's stack going over to the new player."

"It's nothing personal, Higami. I'm just very happy to win, is all."

8: "Can you believe this woman?!"

"It's just a game, baby. It's just a game."

She smiled.

"Of course it is."

9: "Boy, look at the load of chips Higami's gotta send over to Christine Chapel."

8: "He is just feeling that blow."

9: "Things are getting very interesting here at K9 in the final game for Sherman's Planet."

* * *

"Wow. Wow. Higami's an _jackass_. That was really stupid."

"He is not out of the running yet, Hikaru."

"He's still a jackass."

"_Da, koneshno._"

"It's like she's a whole different person when she's playing cards."

"Aye, that she is, doctor."

"You know, I think it's what makes her such a good nurse."

"Nyota, what the hell does beside manner have to do with high-stakes poker?"

"She never misses a tick if you're hurting and trying to hide it."

Jim nodded.

"Kind of puts the whole thing with Korby on another level."

_Shouldn't I have known_? _Shouldn't I have _known?

* * *

8: "Chapel's really been aggressively pursuing Higami this whole time, wearing away that confidence."

9: "She eliminated Korvin with pocket sevens—what a play."

8: "Well you know even though she's been going after Higami, I think she wants him to make the move. She's waiting for him to go all in."

9: "Chapel with pocket deuces in the small blind. She's looking to raise it up—does raise it to a little more than 8M. Now Higami, in the big blind. And two queens for Higami!"

8: "Higami with a re-raise to 12.3M. Back to Christine Chapel."

Christine looked at Higami with clear grey eyes.

"I'm all in."

8: "She moves all in!"

9: "Chapel hoping that he doesn't call her bluff, working another ploy that would make him withdraw—"

"All in."

8: "Oh my goodness we're watching the final hand going down right now, on the table, Sherman's Planet in the air—"

9: "She could not have seen that one coming—"

8: "An embarrassed Christine Chapel shows her deuces and Chapel in _big_ trouble."

9: "I'm surprised that Chapel pushed there at all. She had no reason to make a bet like that, a terrible judgment call."

8: "Chapel is putting all of the Federation in a wringer right here, they've been trying to get Sherman's Planet for years now, about to be lost on a pair of deuces—"

9: "She's got to have some phenomenal luck on her side if she wants to pull this off. There's the flop, and it's seven/nine/tres, nothing for Chapel, Higami's still got it."

8: "Christine Chapel looking for a miracle and here's the turn—_OH_! _A deuce for Chapel she gets the set!_"

[environment erupts in cheers]

9: "_Unbelievable_ for Christine Chapel!"

8: "You don't want the best hand here, you want the best luck."

9: "Wow. Christine Chapel in dominating position now, Higami's only hope is for a queen on the river."

8: "It seems that Chapel should be 100 lightyears away now with no chips, but she just bet huge and _won_."

9: "Now Higami's the one looking for a miracle."

8: "River card is a five, and Christine Chapel's won it for the Federation!"

9: "I'm telling you, she could live to be 150 years old and she'll never get that kind of luck again."

8: "Just when we thought we'd seen it all here at this tournament, this _incredible_ moment—wow. That's all I can say here. Two rookie players from the _Enterprise_ manage to win the strategic Sherman's Planet for the Federation."


	195. Ch 195

To end the tournament, Mr. Lurry and the Casino Collective have scheduled a series of spectacles as a final farewell. They are culturally diverse, as is only appropriate for a gathering such as this. Interestingly, there is a performance of Mahler's Second Symphony. Nyota and I are attending the performance, and I was able to convince Jim to come as well. He has also made plans to watch a boxing match with Koloth, which I have promised to attend with him. The situation with the Orions has made the _Enterprise_ and the _B'Moth_ allies, in the sense that we were united against a common enemy.

"Nothing like an enemy to makes people really good friends," Leonard shook his head.

"It could have deeper implications for Federation-Klingon relations in the future."

"We'll see if it lasts."

* * *

The third movement of the symphony, the Scherzo, sets me ill at ease.

It begins like fish in an aquarium—the scherzo is a citation of St. Anthony of Padua's Sermon to the Fishes—the music is lazy and absent minded. Swimming and circling in the vast closed system, round and round, without point and purpose. There is not even a sense of confusion, but merely looping in and about mindlessly.

The first trio enters with triumphant fanfare, determined to break through the perpetual swimming. The brass forces its way through the crowd of fish, but underlying there is a sense that they are merely swimming in a school now, rather than independently helter skelter. Then the rambling repeats.

Fanfare again, attempting, attempting to break through the realm of fishes. The trumpet plays a melody but always the scherzo returns, always the music becomes lazy, watery, slow like fish dazed by the force of the trumpets. Spiraling, swimming in their aquarium again and again, the same track and traffic.

One last time, but the fanfare ends in catastrophe until the climax—a cry of despair. Horror and terror and grief mixed together in the sound, only to return to the strangeness of fishes once more.

This music sets me ill at ease, though there is no logical reason why I should feel so. Nyota sits to my right, immersed in the experience of the concert while Jim sits to my left, his expression patient and politely interested. It is a mask, one that he has had much practice wearing.

At the end of the movement, a chromatic scale downward, descending. Ends without resolution.

* * *

"What did you think of the performance, Jim?"

A pause.

"You know I don't go for this kind of music. I mean, I guess it sounded good?"

"You were not affected by it at all?"

"Spock, I don't get art. Looking at it, listening to it, I don't get it. It's probably a piece of genius, but I don't think it'll ever affect me the way it affects you."

"But the death-scream in the third movement? That didn't reach down and grab you?" Nyota asked. "You didn't feel it?"

"It was loud."

"Or Ulricht, the alto singing, longing for respite from weariness?" she pressed.

"No, not really."

"You know, some people consider music to be the absolute highest of all art forms."

"Don't you have to get into a discussion about 'what is art' and 'what is form' and 'how do you determine the highest' if you want to say that?"

"You're channeling Spock now."

"He raises valid questions. I believe Nyota means that of all art forms, music—particularly purely instrumental music—is the most abstract expression of intellectual ideas, yet reaches one's emotions directly, in a form that some have said is pure and unmediated. Mahler's Second Symphony, for example, intellectually is a meditation on the themes of life, death, and the question of the existence of life after death.

"It was also influenced by Beethoven's Ninth Symphony and that is reflected in several ways, including the prominent use of the chorus in the final movement, progressive tonality going from C minor to E flat major—"

"Strictly speaking the Ninth is only a change in mode going from D minor to major."

"Of course. That aspect of striving towards another state, expressed musically, is still present."

"I'm not sure I was convinced by Mahler's vision of transcendence. It's not as triumphant and _whole_ as Beethoven's fourth movement."

"The two composers present two different visions. Beethoven was more concerned with the artist's role in bringing Elysium to society. The Ode to Joy theme sung by the chorus is the expression of a universal brotherhood—"

"And sisterhood—"

"I find Standard to be distinctly deficient in this aspect of language, as personhood emphasizes the individual rather than the group, and humanity is specific to Terrans."

She nodded.

"But I see what you're saying. Beethoven is about 'we', where 'you' is explicitly linked with the millions of the world, while Mahler focuses on the individual. It's almost an outsider's perspective, especially in the Scherzo, where the climax is that cry of despair. And the chorus sings as individuals consoling themselves, not as a group united in Elysium."

"Yeah… everything you guys were talking about went completely went over my head."

"It does require a certain set of prerequisite knowledge to comprehend the full meaning of the composer."

"But even if you didn't know that about Mahler and haven't studied Beethoven, you can still feel the emotional power of the music. Can't you?"

"You of all people should know that there's nothing universal when it comes to communication, Nyota. This music speaks to you, or whatever, and that's great. It really does nothing for me."

She remained unconvinced.

"Look, I've been to tons of concerts. You've been to some of them with me—comes with being a representative of Starfleet—every diplomatic mission involves some trip to the art gallery or culture show. You want to talk about feeling in instrumental music? There's some stuff I've listened to that sounds like noise. Complete noise. I can't make out a pattern, can't even feel a _beat_, much less an emotion. There're definitely feelings involved in liking music, but the more concerts I go to, the more I think appreciation for art is a constructed thing."

"Fascinating. That is, of course, the premise of art today, that the appreciation and consideration of something as art is arbitrary in its construct. They hold that neither subject matter nor technique is of any consequence. What is more important are the intent and thought on the part of the artist and its perception by the viewer."

"Deconstruction is all well and good, but there _is_ something that distinguishes art from everything else."

"But _what_ is that? You and Spock have these intense intellectual and emotional reactions to things that I don't have any response to at all. What sets it apart for you? Is it the intent or something of the artist?"

"No," Nyota shook her head. "That's not it. Anyone can call themselves an artist but that doesn't mean they can create art."

"The standards by which one measures the greatness of a piece of art are questionable. Furthermore, if, as some contend, the appreciation of art is essentially a construct dependent on one's education and value system, which in turn are dependent on one's culture and species, then those standards are meaningless and self perpetuating."

Jim looked at me.

"What he said."

"Even if we say it's a construct, I still think there are some things that speak to people universally, across time and species. Art's meant to open up another world to the viewer, to bring them into the vision of the creator and there's always going to be some form of a learning process, an evolution in that. I don't think art's static. It's not one shot of emotion and then forget about the experience. Ultimately, it changes and transforms you. It brings you to see something from another point of view. That's what art is to me."

"You do realize the subjective nature of that statement, ndugu."

"Change and transformation are nice, but a Gorn stabbed you and you've changed since then. Is that art?"

Nyota threw up her hands.

"I can't win. Have you been thinking about this, Jim?"

"Not really. I'm just saying whatever comes to mind."

"You sound like you've thought about it."

"Spock tried to explain it to me before. I still don't get it. I know that there's a lot of thought and history that goes behind these pieces you guys love, and it's fine if you want to consider them that way, on those merits, as things part of a larger tradition. But saying that they've got some kind of universal appeal is where you lose me."

"Is it not possible to consider both points of view correct?"

"They kind of contradict each other, Spock."

"That contradiction arises if you consider them to be part of the same paradigms of thinking. They are not. You and Nyota hold distinct opinions concerning the nature of art that are based on differing value systems, one which emphasizes the subjectivity of the perception of both artist and viewer, while the other emphasizes the context in which the creation is made and judged.

"It is possible to produce a synthesis of these two viewpoints such that both are equally valid."

"Then what's your take on it?" Jim asked.

I paused, considering my words.

"I do not claim to make a definitive statement with respect to art, but from my observations, I have gathered that while artists try to create something individual, art without context can have no meaning. The artist strives to transcend the standards set forth in their time, breaking them and perhaps creating a new set of rules. However, it is ultimately by the standards of the viewer against which the artist will be judged.

"When a viewer finds a piece of art unconventional or incomprehensible, they have the power to choose to adhere to their preconceived standards, molded by whatever factors related to their environment and personal experience, or to learn new paradigms such that they might experience that work of art in a wholly different manner. A work that compels a viewer to reexamine the body of ideas and reactions they held before—whether emotional or intellectual—is ultimately what sets certain pieces apart from the products one encounters every day, and I believe that act of motivated creation is what many would call 'art'.

"The power of a work also depends on its impact on an audience as a whole, no matter the variety of experience among individual viewers. No piece of art will ever be universally appealing in the sense that all people are moved, but if enough are compelled, and that compulsion stands the test of time, that is what people come to name 'great art'. And that, in my opinion, is how art can be considered the most subjective discipline every conceived, and yet speak to 'universal' truths."

Jim smiled.

"I knew you had a theory about this. I knew it."

* * *

"It is—what is the Standard word—beautiful? Striking? Grotesque?" Koloth boomed.

"Depends on what you want to talk about," Jim replied.

"This fight they are staging. On Qo'noS, I have box seats to the best matches. It is a thing of great violence."

"I'll have to visit sometime," he yelled over the noise of the crowd.

"You'll see then the real beauty of violence, only as Klingon warriors can display. The power! The force! It is an art, I tell you."

Jim nudged me.

"These card games of risk are child's play."

He allowed the remark to pass without comment.

"Who'd you bet on, Koloth?"

"The large one, built like a korasha! The other is no match against him," Koloth pointed to the boxer who seemed to have more muscle mass on his body.

The opponents were equally matched in height and weight, but somehow Koloth's choice did appear more menacing.

"What about you, Kirk? Who have you chosen for champion?"

"The other guy," Jim grinned.

"He has potential," Koloth nodded. "But the other has more force to his blows. There is no doubt."

"You're probably right. But I think my guy's got more stamina."

"By Qo'noS, it will be a well matched fight!"

Around us, several Klingon warriors cheered, the sound like a war cry. It was an impressive. The noise encouraged the boxers getting ready in the ring.

They stepped forward, touched gloves. The referee signaled the start.

And with a cry ripping through the air, the fight began.


	196. Ch 196

Though we do not require shore leave as the stay at K7 was sufficiently relaxing and entertaining for the crew, Number One notified us that as an informal award from Headquarters, the _Enterprise_ has been granted short leave on the planet Argelius.

"Captain, I think I'm going to like Argelius."

Beautiful aliens of every variety passed us. Nyota looked on coolly, evaluating the fashion trends of the planet while Scotty and Jim openly appreciated the views.

"More than K7?" Jim grinned.

"Aye. I lost more credits there than I'd've liked."

"And almost a few teeth," Nyota added. "You should leave the bar brawls to Jim."

"I was defending the honor of the _Enterprise_!"

"Against Klingons, Scotty. You've never taken a class in hand-to-hand combat."

"I know how to shoot a phaser and throw a punch."

"Which explains why you were nursing a black eye," Nyota answered.

"Wear it like a badge of honor."

"Men."

Scotty and Jim shared a look.

"It is fortunate that the Argelius government has allowed us to stop here for a short break. Dr. McCoy stated the crew were dangerously close to mutiny, having been on duty in space for so long."

"Where is Bones?"

"He's with Sulu," Nyota replied. "Apparently there's a concert they wanted to go to."

"Sulu likes country music?"

"No. Or at least, I've never seen him listen to it."

"You mean Bones likes something other than country music?"

"It would appear so, Jim."

He looked mildly shocked.

"I've known him for what? Six years? We were roommates!"

"People change," Nyota shrugged. "I think Sulu introduced him to some music or something. Anyway. I think this is the place."

We entered into a small restaurant and were soon led to a low table. The floor was lined with cushions. There was live entertainment on a dimly lit stage—an alien dancer with what appeared to be finger cymbals was moving seductively in the semi-darkness.

"Um, Nyota?" Scotty looked torn between watching and keeping his eyes on Nyota.

"I have no idea. The review didn't mention anything about it when I looked on the nets."

Jim gave an admiring glance at the dancer, then looked at the menu.

"We can go somewhere else if you want. I don't care. Spock?"

"I would prefer to stay. The menu does not seem unpromising."

"Scotty, if it bothers you—"

"Bothers me? No, I'm fine. Just a distraction, is all," Scotty moved closer to Nyota and put his arm around her.

"Certain cultures of Argelius are known to be completely hedonistic. Perhaps this performer is from such a culture."

"What are we doing after this?" Jim asked.

"I'd like to go to their markets and walk around a little," Nyota answered. "The night atmosphere on this planet is supposed to be magical, or something like that."

"I think I saw some broad avenues on our way here that we could take a look at," Scotty said.

"Cool. I'm fine with playing the tourist."

"I have no objection either."

"Great."

While we ordered our meals—"and four glasses of whatever your specialty drink is here"—Scotty seemed to lose focus of his surroundings for a moment.

"Scotty? Earth to Scotty, what's up?"

"Huh? Sorry. Weirdest thing, I just blanked. I've no idea what came over me."

Nyota took his hand.

"Maybe we should go back to the ship after dinner's over and sleep. You look exhausted."

"No, I'm fine. It wasn't anything. No point in missing out on lovely planet like this one," he kissed her. "I'm right as rain."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. Now, what in the world is this thing wriggling in my drink?"

* * *

Jim, Nyota, Scotty and I were walking along a boulevard away from the shopping district. Night was falling. Apparently, Argelius keeps a tradition of having lamplighters—candles were being lit by Argelians on ladders as we continued our way.

Nyota looked absolutely carefree in her dress, walking arm in arm with Scotty. Jim and I walked side by side. He stole kisses from my fingers every so often.

"You know, sometimes I think we really are a family," Nyota smiled. "When we retire from Starfleet, we should all buy houses next to each other."

"That sounds," Jim paused, contradictory emotions rising to the forefront at the thought of retirement, family, and houses. "That sounds nice."

"Doesn't it?"

"We'd have gorgeous babies, Nyota. They'd all become engineers, of course."

"Mm," she agreed, the sound coming from deep inside her. "Spock, you and Jim can be their uncles.

"Everyone on the _Enterprise_ can be their uncles—the lads in engineering at the very least."

"That sounds really," Jim searched for the right word. "Domestic."

He looked at me.

"If there ever was a man born to die in space, it is you, Jim," I said, voice low and soft.

"As long as you're there with me."

"What are you guys cooing at each other?"

"Nyota, we are not cooing."

"Ndugu, are you really going to argue that point with the resident head of Communications?"

"Yes."

For reasons unknown, that set Nyota off in a peal of laughter.

We continued walking aimlessly.

As the night grew darker, it seemed that a fog was descending. Jim frowned.

"Guys, I think we should head back to the beam up point. This fog—is it fog?—feels like it's getting thicker."

"Sounds good to me, Jim. I'm a bit worn out after all."

We walked faster, but the fog rapidly thickened. As it enveloped us, I thought I could hear whispers, a malicious feeling like slime oozing across my skin.

"I don't like this. Come on. Scotty, Nyota, run—"

A scream.

"Nyota!"

Jim disappeared into the fog.

"Jim wait—" I reached out for him.

Dizziness and nausea as the world seemed to tilt. I heard screams echoing and reverberating when this could not be physically possible, the sound of struggle coming from near and far but I could not distinguish whether it was real or imagined. I tried calling out their names, reached for my communicator but could not tell if I had spoken at all. My hands were shaking.

The next moment, the fog was gone. Scotty was standing near a lamp, a dazed expression on his face.

He held a knife.

He was covered in blood.

On the ground lay Jim, Nyota, and the dancer from the restaurant. The dancer was dead. Nyota was bleeding, but I could see her chest rising and falling. Jim was utterly, terrifyingly still, blood seeming to come out of every part of his body.

I took out my communicator.

"Spock to _Enterprise_. Beam Dr. McCoy, Nurse Chapel, and a medical squad to these coordinates immediately."


	197. Ch 197

Dr. McCoy came out of surgery. Nurse Chapel was still inside.

Scotty was in a cell in the brig. A few moments before the medical team had materialized, he had abruptly come out of his trance-like stupor. The first thing he had seen was me, attempting to control some of the bleeding from Nyota's wounds.

He had not realized he held the knife until he dropped it in his haste to come to her side. The sight of his face as he looked down on at his hands, his clothing, covered in red—

Put it from my mind. It does nothing to dwell on the memory.

He recalled nothing. There is a complete gap in his memory from the time the fog set in to the time he woke.

It is clear that he is not guilty, nor will he be held responsible for his actions. However, if he has been possessed, it is likely he poses a danger to others and to himself. I ordered Scotty to the brig and he went without argument.

It was a logical decision.

"How are they, Doc?" Sulu asked, face grim.

"Nyota's all right. I don't think there'll be any lasting damage. She should be up an about in ten days or so."

A pause. No one desired to ask.

"And the keptan?"

Leonard shook his head.

"He's stable. Major damage to the liver, three punctures in his lungs, barely missed his heart and major arteries, thank God. It—whatever the goddamn hell it was—mostly went after his gut. Intestines're a mess. I didn't even know where to begin stitching things back together."

"But he'll make it, right?"

"Yeah. He'll make it. He's one lucky bastard," Leonard scrubbed at his face and sat down gracelessly. "This is cutting it too damn close. I keep waiting and wondering, if the day'll come when he runs outta luck."

Silence.

"Keptan does not need luck. He is already hafing Kirk-force."

"Pasha don't. Not now."

"Why not now? _Da_, it is terrifying _i da_, _mozhet buit on bui pogib, no on perezhil_. Maybe he could haf been dying today, but he is not. He is surwiwing, and that is all that counts. Keptan has not run out of luck because only luck he is needing is to be liwing. And liwing _s'nami_. With us."

"Maybe you're right, Pavel. But sometimes it gets to a man, the way the universe grinds and grinds and grinds on an inexorable wheel. Why Jim? Why Scotty? Why now? Why us?"

"A thousand questions you cannot be answering. There is no point in playing Dostoevsky, doctor. _Nyet prichina_."

"Well let me play Dostoevsky! I aint like y'all. When I feel something, I express it and I aint makin any apologies for it. It's who I am and it just comes outta me like water."

"Guys, calm down," Sulu stepped between Pavel and Leonard. "It gave us a scare is all."

A pause.

"I'm not sayin that Jim's gonna die," Leonard said, voice quiet. "I don't believe that he's run outta luck either. But it doesn't feel like that right now. It feels like fear and piss right now. But that's okay."

There was a hard glint in Pavel's eyes.

"Y'all avoid emotions and strong feelings like acknowledging them's some kinda weakness. Let me tell you this—especially you," he pointed at Pavel. "It's not."

"It is not weakness, and it is not strength."

"Come on, guys. Give it up. We've all got different ways of dealing."

"And this is mine. You want to know why me and Jim're best friends? Because he can take it—he doesn't freak out when I have my freakouts, and he lets me have them. Y'all don't think I know what it does for morale? I'll stuff my emotions in a box when we get to the bridge but right now, I'm among friends."

I gripped Leonard's shoulder, then released. Something seemed to unwind inside him.

"Prognosis, doctor?" I asked.

"You want the truth?"

"When I have not?"

"I can think of a few times," he said, tired smile at the corners of his mouth. "All right—truth's the truth. Jim's in a bad way. He'll live, but it's too early to tell how he'll recover."

"And Scotty?" Sulu asked quietly.

"He hurt himself? Why didn't anyone tell me—goddamnit—!"

"No no no, I mean," Sulu tapped his head. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"Who the hell knows."

"Ewerything is going to be fine. _Vsyo budet horosho_."

"Do you think whatever's possessing Scotty's gonna lash out again? Couldn't he harm himself?"

"I have alerted security to that possibility. They have him on continuous watch. If he attempts to harm himself, we will be notified immediately."

"This mission's gonna go sideways in a big way. I need a drink."

"_Nyet_. It will not. This is the _Enterprise_. It _will not_."

Pavel was holding himself so stiffly it seemed he would snap.

Sulu moved to put a hand on his shoulder, but Pavel sidestepped him and turned away from us. Hikaru was about to go to him, but Leonard made a motion to leave him alone.

"Peter," he mouthed and gave a significant look.

Sulu's brows furrowed. He shook his head and moved closer to Leonard.

"Pavel told me once—he was high as a kite going into surgery—that Jim sometimes reminded him of his brother. There was a huge age difference between them and Peter died in that firefight when Pavel was young."

"Yeah," Sulu paused. "Yeah, that makes sense. And Scotty practically adopted him into the Engineering Department."

"So give him some space. I probably should've kept my mouth shut."

"Nah. You needed to get that off your chest. It's fine."

Leonard turned to me.

"You haven't said anything. Do I need M'Benga to sic a psych exam on you?"

"I am fine."

"You always say that, and it's never true."

"Has it ever occurred to you, doctor, that I say it not because it accurately reflects my physical or emotional state, but because I cannot afford to be anything else but fine at this moment?"

"A twisted form of positive reinforcement."

"Perhaps. The fact remains that three senior officers are currently incapacitated, two of whom occupy the top three positions in the chain of command. The _Enterprise_ cannot afford a fourth."

"You're gonna get to the bottom of this and set it to rights. You always do."

There was a confidence in his voice, an assurance that startled me. What I found—perhaps it should not be surprising, but I had never anticipated it. Leonard McCoy has a deep faith in me, that I will see to my duty and execute it without fail.

Hikaru nodded.

"What do you need us to do?"

Red blood and Jim lying on the ground, Nyota beside him. Scotty with that expressionless face.

We have faced worse threats. I have faced worse threats.

I straightened and adopted perfect military posture.

"I am naming you acting First Officer. The investigation will begin immediately. Lt. Chekov, I am naming you acting Science Officer. Find out whatever you can about psychic entities that manifest as fog, mist, or any such variation, and if there have been similar incidents in the past on this planet or in the Federation.

"Lt. Sulu, for all intents and purposes, you will deal with the officials of Argelius and the legal complications. The entity that possessed Scotty also killed one of the natives and they desire to try him according to their traditions. Find out what those traditions entail, give me a clear report of their expectations. As I am the only eyewitness, I cannot participate in the negotiations of the proceedings. I will contact Lt. Shaw and speak to Number One."

"What about Scotty?"

"I will speak with him. Dr. McCoy, if you could send M'Benga to the Argelius coroner's office, so that we might receive an independent report of the dancer's cause of death."

"Right on it."

"Are there any questions? Shore leave is revoked for all crewmembers until it is confirmed that the planet is secure. Lt. Sulu, organize security teams with Lt. Giotto. Lt. Chekov, notify the transporter room and the communications station. All crewmembers are ordered to report back to the ship. Have Lt. Bequest debrief everyone. Dismissed."

"Wait, Spock," Leonard motioned.

I indicated that Sulu and Chekov should go ahead to their duties. They left Sickbay.

"Yes?"

"If you want a moment with them—they're still anesthetized, but I thought you might—"

I shook my head.

"You are able to express your emotions in a way that does not totally overwhelm you. Vulcans are different. I cannot—"

The sight of Jim and Nyota, so much red and Scotty, standing blank, then the realization, the dawning and _kroykah_. Now is not the time.

Now is not the time.

"It's fine," Leonard gripped my shoulder. "Do what you need to do."

* * *

"You're sure of what you saw?" Lt. Shaw asked.

"Yes."

"It's still problematic."

"Vulcans have an eidetic memory, it cannot be argued that trauma distorted my recollection."

"No, that's not it. You didn't actually see what happened. What you describe is fog and screams, the captain disappearing and the appearance of Scotty afterwards. That doesn't immediately imply possession, not from a legal standpoint. For all we know he could be acting on some deeply submerged subconscious desires."

"Lt. Shaw, I know Mr. Scott. He is not capable of conceiving of such an act."

"I trust your judgment on this, but people are capable of doing a lot of things, Commander. Trust me on that."

"You do not know Lt. Commander Scott. He would not attack Lt. Uhura in such a manner."

She shook her head.

"I know I promised Jim that I would fight for the crew as much as possible, but I don't know if I can win this one, Commander. Assault, manslaughter. Stabbing one person dozens of times—that's not the sort of crime that can be let go."

"Is there no way charges can be dropped?"

"The parties involved have no choice in that. Only the Federation can drop charges in a case like this, and I don't know if they will. Montgomery Scott has a record—"

"All of them were pranks, meant as a form of humor."

"His psychological charts aren't normal. They show some obsessive tendencies—"

"He is devoted to his work."

"I also don't like the fact that you are still acting captain. By protocol, you should have handed the investigation off to another officer."

"Lt. Sulu is managing the investigation planetside—"

"And he reports to you."

"All senior officers are involved in this case, lieutenant. I will not give up command, I know what I saw. The strange appearance and disappearance of the fog, the fact that the dancer was nowhere in our radius yet appeared at the scene of the crime—it indicates some other entity involved."

"You already have a theory and you are going to gather evidence to support that theory. That is _not_ how investigation works and you know it. You can't claim to be unbiased in this situation, Commander."

"I never claimed objectivity."

Lt. Shaw's eyes widened.

Unspoken between us hung the words 'emotional compromise'.

The silence stretched.

"I—," she looked straight at me. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that."

I nodded.

"I don't know what to say, Commander. I'll do what I can."

"Thank you."

"I'll notify you if I find anything."

"Understood. Spock out."

* * *

"You are certain that is what you saw?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. I _don't know_ Spock! Oh god. _Oh god_!" Scotty put his head in his hands, trembling. "Is she okay? Is Jim okay? Oh god. The blood."

I gripped Scotty's arms.

"They will make a full recovery. Dr. McCoy is confident of their condition. Scotty."

He shook his head, face screwed up in an indescribable expression of horror, grief.

"I will find out what did this. You are not at fault. Mr. Scott, do you understand? You are not at fault. I know that Jim and Nyota would never blame you."

"No. No, the knife in my hands. I woke up and the knife in my hands. Oh god. And their blood. The blood, oh god—"

He broke down, almost falling to his knees.

"Scotty—" I kept my grip on him. "Scotty—"

"Oh god the blood oh god the blood," he gasped, sobbing. "I don't remember anything. It's all blank."

"Scotty, do not blame yourself—"

"All blank all blank oh god the blood" broken breaths heaving breaths

And that feeling returning, the oily malice of the fog, faint crying laughing crying laughter buzzing

I let go of my grip on him and stepped back.

"Scotty—"

He could not hear me.

Crying mixed with

"The blood the blood and more red yes red red _RED_!"

Laughter.

"Red red ripping red rip redding the ages of cold collecting gathering the ages of searching"

Mad laughter.

"Gold. Gold red red gold god kill rip red"

"Montgomery Scott. _Montgomery Scott_," I tried to reach him, mind rapidly calculating possibilities and considering hypotheses.

This is not Montgomery Scott staring at me from those eyes.

"Release him. Whatever you are, release him, or I will forcibly remove you."

Steeling my mind, raising my shields and centering myself.

Scotty wavered in place. He gasped, coughed and for a moment the familiar light of his eyes returned.

I went to him and held him up.

"Spock?" he asked, voice raw. "I just blacked—"

And suddenly, gripping my arms, madness raging in his eyes, infected, screaming and screaming

"RED RED RED RED RED RED JACK JILL JIM JAMES JAMES _KIRK_"

Inundated with fog and screams

"I remember you! I _REMEMBER YOU_!"


	198. Ch 198

"Shit," Leonard got up from his seat.

Those gathered in the conference room—Pavel, Sulu, Leonard, Christine, Giotto, M'Benga—were silent. The security feeds of my meeting with Scotty were on the screen.

"Did you feel anything when you pinched him, Spock? Any telepathic content?" M'Benga asked.

I clenched my hand into a fist, then willed myself to let go.

"Only a blinding thirst for slaughter and revenge. Evidently, the creature has encountered the captain in the past."

"No. No way. No goddamn way in hell has Jim met _anything_ like that before."

"It named him specifically."

"No. No. Believe me, he's never seen this before."

"It would not be the first time that the captain has not disclosed details about his past to us."

Leonard looked away.

"Can we be sure that it's not Lt. Commander Scott who's just gone insane?" Lt. Giotto asked.

"You think Scotty could do this? Could be like _this_?" Sulu replied, aggressive edge to his voice.

"It's happened to people before. You can't be sure. People can get space dementia, the stresses of the job, and they just snap. He kept saying 'red'—that's the color of his uniform."

"The color of his uniform," Christine said. "I really don't think that's what he had in mind."

"You can't rule out the possibility that he snapped, in a big way," Giotto argued.

"I can't believe we're talking about this. This is _Scotty_."

"People change. Things happen. I've seen it before, Sulu."

"Shut up. You shut the _fuck_ up."

"Lieutenant," I ordered sharply.

He closed his mouth.

"Doctors, what is your diagnosis? Did the tricorder scans show anything?"

"After you nerve pinched Engineer Scott, we took some in depth scans of his brain. They all came out normally, with no indication of any change," Christine brought up the images. "If he is possessed by something, it's quite adept at hiding itself, or it might be triggered by something."

"Maybe the monster is triggered by your presence, Spock," M'Benga said.

"What?!"

"Think about it, Leonard. The two times it's manifested, Spock has been the eyewitness. Not only that, but he gets away unscathed."

"Sure as hell looked like Scotty wanted to murder Spock right there in the cell to me."

"He didn't have a weapon."

"Don't need a goddamn weapon to try and murder someone."

"While your hypothesis is intriguing, M'Benga, two occurrences do not constitute a definite pattern."

"And don't be jumping into his cell again to try and test it, you green-blooded hobgoblin! You hear me?! Don't even think about it or I'll make you regret it for the rest of your life!"

"Doctor," I said sharply.

He glared, but closed his mouth.

"Hold on. These readings—you said that nothing changed, Nurse?"

"There was no significant change in the brain scans."

"I don't know much about medicine, but I know that you can't take the absence of change and try and twist it to fit your theory. Maybe nothing's changed because it really is Scotty," Giotto said. "This is a serious security threat and given the knowledge he has, I'm not sure the ship's brig can contain him."

"You have several security guards keeping watch, Lt. Giotto. It is counterproductive to undermine crew morale."

"He took on the captain. That suggests he can do major damage. I don't want to lose any of my people, Commander."

"A justified concern. However, as he is currently sedated in our high security cell, there is little else we can do."

"Yes, sir."

"Your arguments contains a fallacy, Lt. Giotto. If Mr. Scott has indeed gone insane, _that_ change would actually show up in his brain chemistry, and we would even have a good chance of identifying the malady. The fact that there is nothing is worrisome and in my opinion, supports the Commander's hypothesis."

I nodded.

"Thank you, M'Benga."

Pavel stood to the side, slouched and silent.

When this mission is over—

I push that consideration aside. Now is not the time. This case is my first priority.

"Lt. Chekov, report."

He snapped to attention.

"There is wery little scientific on the matter of possession, sir, especially with the sign you are describing—fog. Previous cases in the Federation all involve telepathic control under some species, but there are no telepaths on Argelius. Most literature studying this is speculative, a lot is related to religion and stories of demons, the supernatural, if you are believing in that kind of thing."

An expectant pause.

"I am sorry, Commander. I ran searches in all databases, but few articles were scientifically rigorous. There are many conspiracy theories about politicians being possessed. Lots of ghost stories. But that is all."

"Then report what you found that was not up to scientific standards."

"The basic idea is that there are spirits that can continue living, no matter physical or biological life or death. They are like pure energy beings, maybe like Organians, but many cultures are characterizing them with one defining trait."

"What types of traits?" Christine asked.

"Anything. Love, greed, lust, wanity. Goodness. Most cultures believe they are ewil."

"Like being possessed by demons," Sulu frowned.

"Studies get wery psychological, no conclusive results anywhere."

"But they are not considered to constitute an actual alien species as the Organians are."

"No. They are not. Argelius is hafing no known species like this. But Argelian databases are shit. I found this out wery quickly."

"Thank you. Lt. Sulu, report."

"The Argelians want a trial. This has created a huge sensation because apparently, Argelians haven't had a murder happen on their planet in about twenty of their years."

"Really? A planet without crime? How do they manage that?" Giotto looked skeptical.

"It's what Hengist claimed, the planet administrator. Personally, I don't believe him, but that's what their records show. Like Pasha said, they've got shitty records."

"Just you wait. We'll find some kind of underground detention center with all the 'abnormals' stuffed in. I knew this place was too beautiful to be true."

"Dr. McCoy, if you could keep your comments relevant to the matter at hand."

"Hengist's from Rigel Four, kept talking about how if he were back home, he'd have a dozen investigators on it immediately. My question is, if they don't have crime, why do they have such an efficient forensics team?"

Leonard snorted.

"He has a point. Their coroner was extremely professional," M'Benga said.

"Anyway. He and their prefect, a guy named Jaris, want him tried on Argelius. They won't take no for answer. Even threatened to take this to the Federation and make it official when I tried to suggest something else."

Sulu's skills in diplomacy have something to be desired.

"What do they want?" Christine asked.

"Apparently Argelians have an ancient tradition of empathic contact. That's how trials run, and that's ultimately how they determine the guilt of a person. Jaris' wife happens very conveniently to be a judge."

"Why'm I not surprised?" Leonard shook his head.

"What is the possible punishment if they declare Scotty guilty?"

"Hengist wouldn't give me a straight answer on that, saying that he had to look in the law books because his memory was rusty. I think he's bullshitting. I think they're trying to figure out some kind of spectacular punishment right now."

"There is still room to negotiate. He may be tried by their systems, but there are legal arguments we might use to ensure that his punishment is carried out by the Federation."

"If they see him when he's mad, they won't want to keep him planetside," Giotto said. "I can't say I'd blame them."

"We _aren't_ letting them get near him in the first place," Sulu ground out.

"We may not have a choice."

"Spock—!"

"I do not enjoy entertaining that possibility, but it is a possibility. They cannot, however, try him without accounting for my testimony as a witness."

Sulu's eyebrows went up in comprehension.

"I thought Vulcans never lied," Leonard said.

"We do not. I will not obfuscate the facts. Simply use them."

"And who taught you to do that?"

_How did you persuade him to keep your secret?_

_He inferred that universe-ending paradoxes would ensue, should he break his promise._

_You lied._

_I— I implied._

_

* * *

_

"I taught myself, of course."

"And the punishment?"

"A public hanging."

Number One's eyebrow went up.

"I have recommended that the Federation investigate the judiciary practices of this planet."

"I will forward it to the appropriate channels immediately. And put Administrator Hengist under review. He has somehow managed to avoid the last two that were scheduled."

I nodded.

"Your orders, Admiral?"

"Lt. Commander Scott will go to trial on Argelius. We have a solid argument against allowing that government to punish him. The standing agreement between Argelius and the Federation has some convenient loopholes. Whatever the verdict, they will have to be satisfied that the execution of justice will be left to our hands."

"Understood."

"You will stand testimony?"

"Affirmative. I am the only witness able to do so."

"A trial within twenty hours of the crime. It is a very _efficient_ court."

"It would appear so."

"I've seen show trials take longer to put together."

"They are confident in their current system."

"And you," Number One's eyes were assessing. "Are you confident in your theory?"

Despite the absence of conclusive evidence, despite the horror of the vision and feeling, despite Jim lying in a biobed still unconscious—Dr. McCoy assured me it was to facilitate the healing, despite Nyota's skin grey and clammy, despite Scotty sedated in the brig. Am I confident in my theory? Am I sure of what I saw?

"Yes."

"You have not had sufficient time to process everything that has happened."

Objectivity comes with time and distance.

"I am Vulcan."

Number One nodded.

"Very well. Commander."

I looked at her.

"Be careful. One out."

* * *

I stood outside the door of Judge Sybo's chamber. She had requested a meeting, but would not disclose the reason why. Against my better judgment, I agreed to meet her.

A woman bumped into me.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she attempted to help me up. I refused her hand, but she grabbed mine, shoving a piece of paper into my palm. "I can never see where I'm going, I'm so sorry. Are you waiting for Judge Sybo?"

"Yes. As a witness in the upcoming trial, I was informed to report here for a briefing on how I should conduct myself."

Jim is influencing my behavior entirely too much. That entire statement was a falsification.

"I'm so sorry, she must not've told you. Judge Sybo's meeting with Hengist to go over the rules of the trial. It's been so _long_" her emphasis on the word was strange "since the last murder trial. We Argelians are a _little_ innocent on such matters."

"What time will she be free?"

"I really can't say."

"That is unfortunate. Then I will return to the _Enterprise_. Please notify her of my visit."

"Of course," the Argelian smiled. "The exit is right down that way," she pointed to a corridor that led to the side entrance of the building.

"Thank you."

For reasons unknown, despite the fact that I had no security personnel accompanying me, I walked rapidly down the corridor. I made the pretense of taking out my communicator and slipped the piece of paper in the cover's interior. Written were directions to a cafe.

I followed the directions, went to the specified table, and faced Judge Sybo.

"I apologize for this convoluted manner of meeting," she said. "But I had to be sure."

I did not ask her what she needed to be sure of.

"I am sorry that your friend will be subjected to a trial conducted by Hengist, but perhaps it is better this way."

I still said nothing.

"You are Vulcan, Commander Spock. If I may?"

She held out her hand.

"You are an empathic reader."

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes I am an empathic reader. And I feel it all around me, the fear and evil. The _fog_, Commander Spock."

"What do you know?"

"Little. Only that this case with your friend is not the first of its kind among us."

"There have been instances of this before."

"I do not know when the evil began preying on our land, Commander. But it was not always here. And now I am afraid. I am so afraid."

"You are a judge, your husband the prefect. Why do you not investigate this?"

"How? How can we investigate? No, Commander. Our planet is not all it seems. But that man Hengist. I have no proof—nothing but feeling—but be careful of him, Commander."

She rose to leave.

"Judge, do not—"

"I will not say more. Spoken fears have a way of coming true, here. Goodbye."


	199. Ch 199

_I have seen show trials take longer to put together_.

Hengist has taken it upon himself to prosecute this case personally.

"And now I present to the court, the dagger!"

The audience gasped and murmured. I clamped down on my telepathy to prevent their emotions from affecting me.

"The very knife that was plunged into Kara's body, over and over. The agony, the pain of that hot blade entering her once, and again until she screamed for mercy—for death! But it could never come so easily. The murderer was careful not to release her into that black bliss, he continued _tortuously_, until her blood was pouring!"

Scotty sat, face white. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, then opened them.

The trial is closed to all _Enterprise_ personnel. Only myself, some security personnel, Dr. McCoy and Nurse Chapel were allowed entrance.

Beside me, Leonard was seething. Christine had her hand firmly on his leg to keep him from making any outburst. It could do nothing to help Scotty.

"This, Argelians, was the weapon that _he_, the murderer, used to perpetrate this act of violence, this terrible crime! Mr. Scott, tell us, have you ever seen this before?"

Scotty inhaled.

"No," he said, voice steady. "I've never seen it in my life."

"He says no! And yet, our specialists have found your genetic material all over the handle! Your handprints marking this exotic knife, this instrument of your madness!"

"I don't know how I came to holding it, but I've never seen it before in my life."

"He denies it again! He refuses to acknowledge the truth! He stands in the path of the wheels of justice! Argelians are planet of love, a planet where murder hasn't been known for at least twenty years, if not more! None could be more innocent than the people of this planet. They opened their doors to you, they welcomed you with open arms and in thanks, you took up the blade and slaughtered this dancer, this creature of long limbs and erotic beauty."

"I'm gonna kill that bastard. I'm gonna kill him. I've got a hundred ways to do it," Leonard said through grit teeth. "Give me my goddamn med bag, we'll see if he likes writhing—"

Christine tightened her grip on his leg.

"And why did he do it? Why did he do it, Argelians? What could possibly have been the motive for this ghastly deed? What could kind of sick rage could lurk behind those eyes? Do you want to know? Do you dare hear the answer?"

Once Scotty is back in our custody, I will make sure there is no punishment. This—this trial—is punishment enough.

Would Jim have found a way to avoid this? He is always able to create a third option. I curl my hand into a fist and force myself to focus on the proceedings. I will report this, verbatim. Hengist will be held accountable for this.

"It was jealousy. Jealousy!"

Scotty seemed as surprised by this proclamation as we all were.

"Yes, jealousy! Jealous that he could never be as beautiful as you, Argelians! Jealous that his little face could never be tall and smooth like yours, jealous that his eyes could never sparkle with the effervescence of yours. Look at those piggy eyes. Those flabby cheeks! He was jealous that he would always be ruddy and round, creases at the corners of his eyes, hair thinning like—like dried grass!"

"Good God. I'm going to be sick."

"Wait. Scotty's hair isn't thinning," Christine frowned. "It's not thick, but it's not thinning. That description—"

She looked at me.

That description is more fitting for Hengist himself.

"That was the ultimate reason for it! His loathing for all things beautiful—"

"Now wait a minute here," Scotty began. "That's the biggest piece of rubbish I've ever heard, even worse than my relativistic physics professor. I've got nothing against Argelian beauty—"

"He denies it again! He denies everything! You can't trust anything that comes out of his mouth, the mouth of a murderer! A despiser of all things lovely and beautiful."

I sat up, a new sense of focus in me.

"I call to the stand—Commander Spock!"

The court procedures of this planet are dismal. I rose and walked to the questioning box.

"The only witness of this terrible deed, the sole survivor of the horror, the very man who saw the murdered covered in the blood of Kara—"

"On the contrary, my scientists analyzed the various fluids that were found on Lt. Commander Scott's clothing. There was nothing of Kara's genetic material, only that of Captain James T. Kirk and Lt. Nyota Uhura."

"Argelians, he was traumatized by the sight and brutality, hardly able to keep his sanity together after having witnessed such depravity—"

"Once again, you are mistaken. My memory is intact. I am Vulcan and therefore have an eidetic memory. Nothing I will say on this stand is fabricated."

Which is more than I can say for Hengist. I looked briefly at Scotty who smiled, though he was still extremely pale.

"Oh the lies we tell ourselves after seeing such cruelty! You must have compassion on him, the sight of his comrades fallen could only have shattered—"

"I do not see how your comments are pertinent to the matter at hand. I swear on my honor as an officer of Starfleet and a Vulcan, my memory is clear and I will accurately and objectively relate the pertinent facts."

"—could only have shattered what remained of his great mental powers after the destruction of Vulcan!"

The room fell absolutely silent.

I looked Hengist, who was wide eyed and trembling with sick fervor, a strange light in his eyes.

"The destruction of Vulcan is not relevant to the trial for which we are gathered."

"Oh, Argelian, just imagine. Just imagine the terror of those millions of people as they sat, their planet crumbling under them. Think of all the fear, the pure unadulterated fear, the despair of an entire species. Billions! Their own planet a slaughterhouse, inescapable and the chains keeping them, with no escape, nothing but the blackness of wrenching terror, cries for mercy, the pungent smell of death hanging in the air—"

"If you continue utilizing psychological and emotional manipulation in this farce of a trial, I am prepared to arrest you. You will be escorted to the nearest starbase and stand trial before a court of the Federation. And there, you will see exactly how precise my memory is. You will experience how thorough Starfleet interrogative technique can be. You may even be surprised by the facts Starfleet will find concerning your past activities."

Hengist was sweating. I looked directly at him.

"Choose your next words _very_ carefully."

He opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Then opened it again. And began laughing, the sound nervous.

"I do not need Commander Spock's testimony to convict Lt. Commander Scott! Judge! Fair Sybo, give us your ruling. Use your wisdom, the ancient empathy that reveals all truths, to show us the face of the murderer!"

The lights dimmed immediately. Sybo stood from her seat in the judge's stand, then descended.

"Those I call forward will complete the circle! You—" she pointed to Scotty. "You." Hengist. "You." Myself. "You and you" she pointed to Jaris and Christine. "All others, leave."

We waited as the Argelians filed out. Sybo lit a series of candles, then held her hands out when the last Argelian left and the doors closed.

"Make a circle. Let the circle not be broken."

Christine and Leonard flanked me so that I might not come into contact with the others. I could feel them actively trying to mute their emotions. Sybo stood directly in front of me. She looked at me intensely before she masked her expression.

"Let us begin. Concentrate upon the flame which burns upon the altar of truth."

Silence.

"Yes, there is something here. Something terrible."

The words contained an edge of deep fear.

"Its presence—anger, hatred. Fear. Fear and anger, feeding the flame. Black flame! Red, feeding. There is—there is—!"

Her breathing became labored.

"There is evil here! Monstrous, terrible, consuming hunger! Hatred of all that lives, old hatred."

The sensation of nausea came again. I opened my eyes immediately. The candles had gone out.

"Hatred of women. Hatred of a man—another universe. A place distant, a time distant and changed. But the same. A memory, a burning thirst for revenge. Never dying. Never letting go, for a man. One man."

_There is an exit to the left, do you remember it?_

Leonard and Christine looked at me in the darkness. Fog was accumulating, and the malice with it.

_What's going on—?_

_On my signal, break the circle and run. Do not question me, leave the room._

They nodded.

"One man, a memory. It is strong, overpowering. An ancient terror, named and nameless. But a name. Of another life. Another planet, Argelian and a—"

She gasped.

"A captain! A hunger that will never die! Devouring all life, all light. Redjac! Redjac!"

I broke the circle, pushed Leonard and Christine towards the exit when fog engulfed everything and the screaming began again, the distance, the cries of terror and piercing it Scotty's voice shrieking

"REDJAC REDJAC REDJAC REDJAC! I _REMEMBER YOU_! I WILL KILL YOU KIRK! KILL YOU AND EVERYTHING YOU HOLD DEAR!"

The sound of security bursting through phasers set to stun

"I'VE WAITED FOR SO LONG SO LONG SO LONG REDJAC REDJAC AND I'LL START WITH YOUR CREW!"

Lights coming on but the fog dense and choking, like smoke and suffocation, yells and reverberating nausea

"HOW DO YOU LIKE IT LIKE IT _LIKE IT_? ME IN THIS BODY! JUST WAIT. JUST WAIT, THE WORST IS YET TO COME! _YET TO COME_!"

The fog disappeared.

Standing was Scotty, covered in blood once more, holding the knife once more. Sybo was dead. Jaris dead. Two security officers stabbed through the heart. Leonard and Christine rushed through the door. It seemed I was untouched, as well as Hengist.

I nerve pinched Scotty before he could wake from his stupor. It could do nothing for him to see once more, especially when he had no control. Leonard immediately dosed him with sedative while Christine took tricorder readings of those that were dead.

"Spock to _Enterprise_."

"Sulu here."

"Lt. Sulu, send down a medical team and a security squad."

"Aye, sir. Anything else? You sound," he paused. "You sound off. Did something happen?"

"Debriefing in twenty minutes. We will beam up momentarily."

"All right. Teams are on their way, sir. Sulu out."

I closed my communicator.

I am glad Jim is spared this.


	200. Ch 200

"No."

"He will be in our custody."

"They're screaming for his head down there. I don't care how good our security forces are, armed people against a mob never leads to anything good. He comes on the _Enterprise_," Leonard argued.

"It is clear that the entity that possesses him has some vendetta against the captain. Bringing him back onto the _Enterprise_ could be catastrophic. It indicated that it was determined to kill the crew."

"And how exactly is it going to do that, when Scotty's wrapped in security tighter than Fort Knox?"

"We cannot be certain that this entity cannot move between individuals."

"It hasn't so far, or it'd have possessed you or me or Chris. Hell, anyone."

"Redjac is not a fool. It is patient and somehow able to traverse through alternate timelines to find us here. It is toying with us, slowly destroying Scotty psychologically. Its object is torture, not instant death."

"And it's a sick bastard at that. You did the right thing, taking Scotty out before he could see."

Silence.

"Spock? How'd you know? How'd you know it'd attack?"

"I did not. I was not certain, but there was a high probability."

"Can you," he hesitated. "Can't you go in and get that thing out of Scotty's mind?"

I looked away and closed my eyes. Coming into contact with an entity like Redjac—

"I have considered the possibility."

Silence.

"And what about Hengist? Why wasn't he harmed in any of this? Scotty didn't touch him. And the way the man was going after Scotty. There's something not right."

"Agreed. But I do not know if they are related."

"They're related. They've got to be related."

"Perhaps."

"But Scotty. He's coming on board. We're not going to have any more Argelians killed because of this."

"If Sybo's warnings are true, then this is not the first time Redjac has killed. Argelius has apparently had several murders."

"Bring Hengist too. Arrest him or something. I want that man in the brig until we get this goddamn nightmare solved."

"I will issue the order to security."

* * *

"I haf got it!" Pavel ran into the conference room. "We are framing the question wrong. It is not possessing people that we must be looking at, but creatures that feed on emotion!"

"Elaborate, lieutenant."

"There are examples of planets where two species are existing, usually in a symbiotic relationship. The Drella of Alpha Carinae Five feeds off the humanoids that live there, getting food from emotion. It is being reported that they are mostly feeding off of love, but scientists are thinking that some feed off emotions like fear, anger. And then there is cloud creature of Alpha Majoris One, the mellitus. It is gas, naturally, sometimes liquid as it is getting older."

"How is the relevant to Scotty being possessed?" Sulu asked.

"_Nyet, nyet_. Scotty is not being possessed exactly in the way we were thinking. This is a complicated monster. I am thinking that it feeds exclusiwly on terror, but terror is hard to find. So it must be creating its own terror, to feed itself."

"That doesn't explain why the hell it's got a vendetta against Jim and the _Enterprise_. Or why it chose Scotty, of all people, to use as its vehicle."

"I do not know why the keptan, but this monster is intelligent and sadistic. I am thinking Scotty is ideal candidate because he is always joking. Keptan, Spock, Nyota—they have seen too much terror. They are more numb to it. Scotty is an engineer. He is not seeing Wulcan implode."

"That... sounds strangely plausible," Christine said.

"Maybe it's plausible, but it doesn't tell us how to get rid of it before it breaks Scotty completely. Or kills us. Whichever comes first," Sulu replied.

"You should be asking Hengist."

"Why is that, lieutenant?"

"It is not obwious, Spock? Hengist was a wehicle before. He might be incubating new monster, or old monster is keeping him as backup plan. That is why he is not being killed."

"How are you so goddamn sure of this?"

"Because. Sulu is looking up Hengist's record before he is Administrator. On Rigel, he was stand-up comedian from nice middle class family. He is looking much happier than he is now."

"Wait wait wait. I remember something. Hold on," Sulu said and punched a search into the terminal. "I was helping Pasha search for similar incidents of possession and Rigel Four—there."

Sulu pulled up a series of names and dates of murder victims of Rigel Four.

"Filter these results to correspond to the cities he visited while he was touring as a comic, and—"

A series of names came up.

"Holy mother of," Giotto went up to the screen. "It's the Quodon serial killer. That's him."

"Lieutenant?"

"I had a friend obsessed with this case. Rigelian authorities couldn't believe that they never solved this case because of the sheer number of murders and the fact that they were so violent. But nothing. No solid leads, except that people in the area always felt clammy right after a murder."

"I will remind everyone present that this is purely speculation based on Lt. Chekov's theory. It is possible that Hengist will have no recollection of being host to Redjac at all, if his symptoms follow that of Scotty's."

"I don't know, Spock. He might. All those graphic descriptions of murder?" Leonard shook his head. "He's got to remember something even if it's only in his subconscious. That's a long time to be hosting something as demented as Redjac."

"Shall I prepare an interrogation room, sir?"

"Yes, Lt. Giotto. Interrogate Hengist and if no answers are forthcoming, I will find the answers myself."

* * *

Jim was lying on the biobed, sleeping. Various tubes were ran from his arms, through his nose, out of his stomach.

I am exhausted.

I carefully put my hand to his face, run my fingers through his hair. Through our contact, there is nothing but the deep content of sleep. Underneath it, he feels safe. He feels secure.

I want to climb into the biobed with him.

But I will not.

Giotto is calling on the terminal.

"Spock here."

"We've got ourselves a canary, sir."

I do not know what that colloquialism means, but I do not bother. The tone of Giotto's voice is all I need.

"Good. I will join you immediately. Spock out."

* * *

"That's a messed up situation if I've ever heard one," Sulu shook his head.

Apparently, Hengist was aware of being possessed by Redjac. He attempted to combat its campaign of terror, particularly in Argelius, by actively promoting beauty and encouraging the residents to consider themselves 'innocents'. This had the inadvertent effect of increasing the terror of the victims when they were murdered.

"My head hurts just _thinking_ about it. Did he do all that because he really thought it'd help, or because Redjac was manipulating him?"

"I don't care what he thought he was doing," Giotto said. "It didn't help. You can look at it this way—there's no doubt he covered up the murder investigations to lull people into a sense of security, then struck out when they felt safest. Their fear was that much more potent."

"Did he give any indication as to how he was able to remove Redjac?"

"No. He's still afraid that he's possessed. He said the trial wasn't him. The compu-polygraph is on the fence about that statement."

"Maybe there's some merit to his original idea, though," Christine said, voice thoughtful. "I think he executed it poorly, but the concept was that if they were innocent and induced to always be happy, focused on beauty, they might not feel terror. We don't know how to get Redjac out, but if we sedated people, it would lower the pool of individuals he could draw terror from or use."

"It _does_ breed and feed off fear and terror, then kills. We are confirming that in the interrogation."

"Doctor?"

"Hell, it might work. I've got some stuff that'd tranquilize an active volcano."

"After you are done tranquilizing the majority of the crew, I believe we should attempt to tranquilize Scotty."

"Spock. He's already sedated. The man's sleeping."

"We will wake him. The two states may make a difference."

"What're you going to do with it when it's out? Put it in a jar?" Leonard asked.

"In a manner of speaking. If it is physical, I will use the transporter to rip it apart at the subatomic level and beam those particles directly into the core of this system's sun. If it is being made of energy, I will force it to a state of matter using the replicator, then rip it apart at the subatomic level and transport it."

"What if it doesn't die?" Christine asked quietly. "What if it's an eternal consciousness?"

"Perhaps it cannot die. However, it needs sustenance. If my solutions do not work, then I will spread Redjac across an inhospitable system lightyears from any civilization. That way, it might at least be weakened."

"Spock. Your last solution implies a body," Leonard looked at me.

"Yes."

A pause.

"I am confident in my telepathic capabilities. Lt. Chekov will man the transporter."

"Like hell he will, goddamn bastard! I'm not going to sit on the sidelines while you decide to sacrifice yourself to some psychopathic monster!"

"Commander, there's gotta be another way—" Sulu said.

"_Nyet_. I will not man the transporter. You can be court martialing me. I will not do it."

"That is the last option. I do not relish the idea of being scattered across a remote system."

"We'll use a cadaver. Anything. Just shut up with your fool idea."

"No one has successfully established a telepathic connection with the dead, Leonard."

"_I'm not going to let you do this_."

"And I will do my best to ensure it does not happen."

"What about the captain? Jim?" Christine asked. "You can't, Spock. Nyota—you can't. It would destroy Scotty."

"Stop. I will not do this except as a last resort. But it is a possibility and if it is necessary to execute this, you _will_ follow my orders. It is either that or remain in a perpetually tranquilized state, paralyzed by inaction, trapped by monster bent on destroying every individual on this ship.

"And _that_ is no life at all."


	201. Ch 201

I drove it out of Scotty. But instead of taking up residence in my consciousness, it has fled to

"REDJAC REDJAC REDJAC REDJAC REDJAC I HAVE CONTROL OF YOUR COMPUTERS!"

"Will that stupid thing just shut up already?" Sulu rolled his eyes. "This is the first time I've heard a malfunction threaten us."

"_Rebyata_, I am getting a headache."

"Oh, I don't know," Christine answered. "I think it's a nice change. We're familiar with ship emergencies. We've been through so many of them, life support failure hardly seems like something to worry about."

"You've got a point."

"Y'all shouldn't be laughing yet. If this virus gets a hold of Sickbay controls, there's only so much I can do."

Everyone's expression sobered.

"Way to kill the mood, Doc."

"_Da_."

"Thanks is all I need. Spock, how's hide and seek with the computer systems going?"

My fingers flew over the keyboard. The computer scientists on board were scrambling to keep everything secure, bringing systems back online that Redjac had disconnected.

"It is proceeding."

"How long's it been since you slept?"

"That has no bearing on the situation at present."

"That long, huh? You're beginning to sound like a computer, Commander," Sulu said.

"Irrelevant."

"YOU CAN'T STOP ME NOW! IT'LL DO NO GOOD! I CONTROL ALL CIRCUITS! YOU CANNOT SILENCE ME! YOU CANNOT REACH ME! YOUR MANUAL OVERRIDES ARE _EXTREMELY LIMITED_ IN LIFE!"

Silence.

Then Sulu, Pavel, Christine and Leonard burst out laughing. Other members of the bridge were laughing as well.

"Wow. 'Your manual overrides are _extremely limited_ in life!'" Sulu said in falsetto.

"Oh, I am quaking in fear in my little Starfleet boots! Hikaru, save me!"

"Never fear, fair damsel," Sulu stood, pretending to wield his foil. "I shall slay this manual override. Its life is _extremely limited_! Nothing can withstand the power of my autocontrol!"

"Oh, my _hero_!"

"Redjac, striking fear in the hearts of mortals since stardate 3614.9," Leonard sniggered. "I can drink to that."

"SOON ALL CONTROL WILL BE RESTORED TO _MEEEE_! THERE IS NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO PREVENT IT!"

"'Meeeeeeeee!'" Pavel said, tone off key. "'Soon all control will be restored to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

"Meeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahaha! Evil villain is evil! You will all die!"

"Meeeeee fa so la ti dooooo ti la so fa mi re do," Christine sang. "Do mi mi, mi so so, re fa fa, la ti ti."

"Y'all've gone insane."

"Well, Doc, it's like this," Sulu slung an arm around Leonard's shoulder. "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em!"

"I AM WITHOUT ENDING! I HAVE EXISTED FROM THE DAWN OF TIME, AND I SHALL LIVE BEYOND ITS END!"

Pause.

"IN THE MEANTIME, I SHALL FEED—"

The bridge howled with laughter.

"'In the meantime'? _'In the meantime'_?"

"In the meantime, while I wait for you puny mortals to perish from sheer laughter, I will paint my toenails," Christine. "It's not easy to do, you know, living beyond the end of time."

Inspired by Christine's singing, I altered the voice coming through the intercoms. We had lost control of turning the comms off entirely, but there was this option of distorting Redjac's voice.

"I SHALL FEED AND THIS TIME I DO NOT NEED A KNIFE!"

"Oh. My. God. He sounds like a chipmunk."

Sulu and Chekov were doubled over with laughter. There were dark circles around their eyes from the triple shifts they were pulling, but they were laughing.

"Hear that, Pasha? He doesn't need a knife. _He doesn't need a knife_. Our baby psycho's all grown up, moving on to," Sulu pretended to sniff, "terrorism."

"YOU WILL ALL DIE HORRIBLY IN SEARING PAIN!"

"Spock, I thought you said this monster was clever. Why the hell does it keep talking?"

"It appears that Redjac is not as intelligent as we credited it with being."

"That's a mighty shame. I was really getting good and terrified for a while."

"I am deeply sorry for your loss."

Leonard grinned.

"I CAN CUT OFF YOUR OXYGEN AND SUFFOCATE YOU!"

"Then do it already!" Sulu shouted at the comm.

"NO NO NO NO NO!"

"That sounds worse than Joanna when she throws a tantrum."

"NO! NO NO!"

"_Znayete_, you know how we are always meeting these beings that are saying they are omniscient and omnipotent and eternal?"

"Yeah?"

"Sometimes I am thinking, if someone is claiming to be God, I will ask them: are you all knowing, all powerful, and newer dying? If they are saying yes, I know they are not God. If they are saying no, I know they are not God."

"Wait, what? If they say yes or no, they're not God?"

"That is what I am thinking."

"Then what do they say?" Christine asked.

Pavel shrugged.

"Nothing. Maybe they change the subject to talk about the weather."

A pause.

"You're a genius, you know that?"

"I know that."

"NO NO KILL YOU ALL! DIE! MAKE YOU SUFFER!"

"What're the chances Redjac will talk about the weather?"

"Wery slim."

"Want to bet on it?"

"You should not make so many best you will lose, Hikaru."

"YOU'LL SEE! YOU'LL SEE!"

And with that, Redjac left the computer systems. The programmers, however, continued to guard the security of the various ship systems.

"Giotto to Bridge. Sir, Redjac's in Hengist's body."

"Sedate him and bring him to the transporter room immediately."

I went to the turbolift. Sulu, Pavel, Leonard, and Christine followed me.

For reasons unknown, Christine began singing, the sound lighthearted and playful.

"Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily merrily merrily merrily life is but a dream."

When we entered the transporter room, Chekov immediately went to the console and set up the coordinates. Leonard had his tricorder out, assessing the condition of Hengist and making final records. Christine and Sulu stood by, leaning into each other.

"Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily merrily merrily merrily life is but a dream."

"I'm going to sleep for two shifts after this," Sulu said. "What a nightmare."

"Dr. McCoy, I take full responsibility for the death of Hengist."

"Shut up Spock and get on with it so that we can all crawl into bed. None of your tomfoolery now."

"Lt. Chekov, subatomic separation. Then scatter the particles to distinct regions of space, once of which should be the center of this system's star."

"Aye, sir."

"And one part for deep space, full power, wide angle dispersion."

"Ready, Commander."

"Good. Then energize."

Everyone gathered in the transporter room seemed to hold their breaths while Pavel manipulated the controls. No one exhaled until the body dematerialized completely.

As a formality, Leonard used his tricorder to detect any sign of what was formerly Administrator Hengist.

He looked at his tricorder.

"Nothing."

"Oh thank goodness," Christine exhaled. "I feel like my eyes are going to fall out."

"I'm going to sleep."

"_I ya tozhe. Poka._"

"I will ensure that no one disturbs you."

"Now what the hell do you think you're doing? Pulling another shift?"

"No is available to command the _Enterprise_ except myself."

"Give the conn to one of the pilots, for God's sakes, they can handle it. We're still in orbit, Spock. Nothing's going to happen."

I shook my head.

"I should report in with the Admiral and Lt. Shaw."

"Report after you've meditated a few hours or something. You look like you're going to collapse on your feet."

"Leonard—"

He held up a hypospray menacingly.

I looked at him.

"I see."

"You damn well better."

"Then I submit to your recommendation on one condition."

"What?"

"You also sleep for at least eight hours."

Leonard glared at me.

"I'm used to working long hours."

"As am I. Surely you can leave Sickbay to the care of your nurses."

"Don't you go twisting my words, you infernal green-blooded—"

I raised an eyebrow.

"Five hours."

"Seven."

"Five and a half."

"Seven."

"Six."

"Seven."

"Six and half and that's my final offer."

"Done," I nerve pinched him, calculated to last seven hours.

"That wasn't fair, Spock," Christine smiled.

"I will rest as well. I am a Vulcan of my word."

"And in case you aren't," she jabbed me with a hypospray. "You'll fall asleep in thirty minutes. I assume you know where Leonard's quarters are?"

"Yes," I picked him up.

"I have to get a picture of this sometime. You two are too adorable not to be brothers."


	202. Ch 202

"Scotty," Leonard nodded to the biobed. "I'll leave you two alone. Spock, I've got Jim over here. He's still a mess, but he's awake."

I followed him to another section of Sickbay.

"Jim, don't do anything stupid."

"Hey, when've I ever done that?" he smiled.

"Too many times to count, you big idiot."

"Love you too, Bones."

"Save that for Spock. I'm your doctor, not your teddy bear."

Jim laughed.

Leonard quietly left.

I stayed at the foot of his biobed, taking in the sight of him.

Red blood on the pavement and lying so still.

No.

He is alive.

He is awake.

His eyes are blue and his lips are smiling.

My hands are not shaking. They are completely relaxed at my sides.

"Hey, come here," he put his right hand out. "Come here."

Our line of work is dangerous. There is always a risk that we will be killed in the line of duty. Or, in this case, in the line of leisure.

I do not think I will ever get used to it.

The fear of losing Jim.

I do not think I will ever become accustomed to the numbness that sets in, immediately after he is wounded or hurt or captured in some way. I will push through and never exhale until I see him like this. Looking at me. Blue eyes and wide smile.

I walk towards him.

Take his hand in mine.

The thrill of simple contact, an entire world alive and active under his skin, between his synapses.

"It was that bad, huh?" He looked up at me.

I swallowed.

"It was—"

Jim put his hand to my face.

"Difficult."

He drew me closer.

"It is no matter. You are alive. We have survived. The _Enterprise_ has received its next mission."

Jim kissed me.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against my lips.

I kissed him.

"For what? You have nothing to be sorry for."

He kissed me again.

"I know. But I'm sorry anyway."

And suddenly I was kissing him, perhaps deeply, perhaps desperately, perhaps madly. I did not care.

Desire pulsed between us, Jim shifted to make room for me in his biobed.

"I do not think—" I gasped

"Don't think."

"That this is advisable—"

"I want you right now."

"While you are still recovering—"

"I want you right now."

I climbed into his biobed and lay beside him, heart rate elevated, pupils dilated, inhaling exhaling.

He put one arm around my waist and another behind my head and pulled. I shifted closer to him, closer and impossibly close.

"You want to meld?"

I wanted so much to take comfort in his mind, to forget the horror of wrenching Redjac from Scotty's mind. It would be irresponsible to meld with Jim right now. His body needs to make a full recovery, I must meditate before I feel capable of controlling the meld. The emotional transference would be devastating.

I shook my head.

Untangled the tubes protruding, carefully adjusting my position so as not to cause Jim any pain or discomfort.

"Spock, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere," he whispered.

He touched his forehead to mine.

"I always come back. I always come back to you."

His emotion, his confidence and surety.

I am glad Jim was spared this experience.

"Yes," I traced a path along his arm, from his elbow to his shoulder. "You always come back to us."

"What happened? Tell me."

I closed my eyes.

"It has been a long mission."

"Tell me what happened, Spock."

I shook my head.

"I do not know all the facts yet. And there are legal issues that still must be dealt with."

"I want to know."

"I will tell you, Jim," I promised. "But I am uncertain of what I saw and the events that transpired."

Muted terror came through our contact. I could not tell if it was my emotion or Jim's.

Images flashed, the remembered sensation of a dagger plunging again and again into his body, the muscle clenching and tightening around it only to be ripped open when the metal withdrew. The feeling of holes appearing, nerves on fire, breath catching and fluid seeping everywhere it should not, into his lungs, out of his stomach, oozing from his liver.

I looked at him. He shivered.

"He came out of nowhere," Jim said quietly. "I didn't even recognize him, I thought it was someone else."

Blurred images of fog mixed with shadow and screams.

"I just reacted. Heard Nyota scream, jumped to go to her and Scotty. Scotty's never taken our seminars for fighting. Nyota has, and she can hold her own now. You know that."

I nodded.

"Saw her struggling against this figure. I didn't think. I pulled it off her and landed a few punches, tried to throw it off balance. The knife came out of nowhere."

Vague recollections of struggling against a grip like iron, pain exploding everywhere and trying to stay cognizant enough to fight but the pain, trying to dodge and get away but the fog turning into red mist and terror, the world tilting sideways.

"Scotty's really strong. Did you know that? He's really strong."

"I did not. However, now that you have mentioned it, the fact is not surprising."

"Why not?"

"He often uses manual tools. Strength is necessary for securing bolts, lifting the heavy machinery."

"A handyman's strength," Jim nodded. "Mark was strong like that. He could fix anything. I think Mom was too."

Images of Tarsus IV, evenings spent with his stepfather examining machinery and asking a continuous stream of question while Mark answered them all, demonstrating and sometimes giving Jim the tools to fix the problem. His mother looking on occasionally while she prepared dinner.

The memory faded quickly as Jim clamped down on his thoughts.

"Is Starfleet going to court martial him?"

"Lt. Shaw and Number One have made it clear that this case has become a 'legal nightmare' and it will take some time to determine the proper course of action. The testimony of all those involved will be recorded and accounted. For now, Scotty will remain with us."

"They're not taking him away."

"We will make every effort to prevent that from happening."

"It wasn't his fault. That wasn't him staring at me. It was something else completely."

"Jim, do not agitate yourself. No decision is going to be made immediately."

"I don't care. They're not taking away my Chief Engineer. You can't let them. You _can't_ let them, Spock. That's a direct order. You hear me?"

I kissed him. Thoroughly.

"Does that ease your worries?" I asked softly.

"A little," he smiled.

"Only a little?"

"I think if you did it one more time."

I kissed him. Slowly.

"Now?"

He made a show of considering his response.

"Yeah, a little better. Maybe one more."

I kissed him. Softly.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, I think I'm good."

We lay together in silence.

"They'll think of something. Areel and Number One'll think of something. They've got our backs."

"We are fortunate to have Number One as our commanding officer."

"I always thought Pike would be our CO. It was his ship."

"He has opted to deal with the Academy rather than oversee deep space missions. He often expressed dissatisfaction with the quality of cadets who graduated to serve on ships, particularly those from the Command School."

"No wonder he pushed me through the fast track," Jim shifted, pressing us close again. "How long am I stuck in Sickbay this time?"

"Leonard recommended a minimum of twenty days. You have several internal injuries."

Jim sighed.

"It is remarkable that you are alive at all, Jim. Twenty days is an insignificant amount of time compared to the amount of time patients spent recovering in medical facilities in pre-Warp days."

"I know, I know. I just hate it here."

"The crew will visit you."

"Spock, you know that's not what I mean."

"Shall I arrange for your quarters to be converted? It is possible, I may speak with Christine about it."

"No. I don't want Sickbay to follow me into my room."

"Then there is nothing to do but remain. Leonard has already planned your physical therapy routine."

"Great. Just great," he buried his head into the curve of my neck.

"You are distressed."

"I'm not distressed," he mumbled.

"You are not pleased with this news, though it indicates that Leonard is planning on pushing you through an intense recovery. I had been under the impression that this would be welcome news."

"He's a taskmaster. He says _I_ push myself too hard—Bones is just as bad, only he hypos me whenever he thinks I'm overextending myself."

"Ah. The doctor's ubiquitous hypospray."

"He _knows_ I hate it. If he told me to stop, I'd actually listen."

I pulled my head back to look at Jim. He squinted up at me, a guilty expression on his face. I raised an eyebrow and made no comment.

"Commander," Christine's voice came from the other side of the partition.

Jim tightened his hold on me.

"Commander, they're asking for you from the bridge."

"Is it important?" Jim asked, already knowing the answer.

Apparently, there is something of an unspoken rule among the crew that, when either myself or the captain is injured, we as a unit are not to be disturbed during our hours off duty, unless it is a matter of particular urgency. It is common knowledge that we spend every spare minute with each other. It seems they desire to protect us, creating time and space so that we both might recover.

"Yes. The Admiral's on the line."

Jim groaned. I made no move to leave.

"Understood. I will be there momentarily."

"Don't keep her waiting too long."

Christine left.

"I will return."

"I know. Remember—Scotty—"

"The matter will be resolved acceptably."

"I think I might need a little more reassurance on that," Jim grinned.

I kissed him, leaving him breathless by the end.

"Okay. Go."

I climbed out of the biobed and adjusted my uniform.

Jim reached out and took my hand in his.

"Don't break my ship."

I raised an eyebrow.

"I would never think of it, captain."


	203. Ch 203

Since the disastrous situation with the entity known as Redjac, the crew has been struggling to cope with the aftermath. No one blames Scotty—he had no control over the situation and is not responsible for his actions while he was under Redjac's influence. Nevertheless, the members of the general crew are uneasy. It is as though they are afraid he is carrying a fatal infectious disease and they desire to quarantine him. Scotty's core group of engineers stand by him firmly, taking their meals with him, visiting Nyota in Sickbay and making an effort to include them both in their activities. Redjac was, we believe, an alien that feeds off of strong emotions, particularly terror. Now however, the predominant emotion is anxiety, the acid taste of paranoia.

No one has been more affected by these events than Scotty himself. He has taken to avoiding sleep, working on and starting a substantial number of engineering projects. Pavel has reported that Scotty lives off catnaps, catching twenty minutes at his desk, thirty minutes in Sickbay, fifteen minutes in the corner of a recreation room. Leonard and Christine are monitoring his condition closely. The brain scans indicate that no physical damage has been inflicted on his mind, but the psychological aftereffects are marked.

Scotty is an engineer, not a soldier. While those in the Security Department and officers on the command track are prepared for the idea that they may kill others or be killed themselves, Scotty has not had to face that possibility and come to terms with it. His primary interest is technology—warp engines and replicators—and his primary duties lie in that same vein. That is not say that he is unfamiliar with violence. He is trained to use a phaser as all personnel are, he is able to initiate a bar brawl. As Lt. Commander, he is familiar with the ship's weapons systems and has, on occasion, used them at the captain's orders.

However, he is not trained to be constantly aware and vigilant. Jim and I, and now Nyota and Sulu, are prepared for anything to occur at any time. It is necessary and to some extent, it has become habit. We encounter such strange circumstances with such consistency that he and I easily slip into our command personas even when we are on shore leave. Crises have become the norm for us. I suspect that if he and I attempted to reintegrate into civilian life, it would be a jarring experience. We live in such a regular state of emergency that we have, in many ways, become desensitized. I do not believe—I hope never to become numb to such circumstances. Nonetheless, our rate of emotional recovery has become faster. Leonard will argue that this is because we do not truly process our emotions, and that our post-traumatic stress will be 'a thing of gruesome wonder', but I do not think this will be the case.

Leonard and Christine are similarly well acquainted with the terrors that come with a deep space mission such as ours. As medical personnel, they too live in a relentless environment characterized by trauma and emergencies. At any given moment, Sickbay is always occupied with the bloody, the dead, and the dying. Crewmembers are regularly treated for PTSD, depression, anxiety, space dementia—any number of things. Starfleet has difficulty filling its rosters for the Medical Department because of all the departments, it has the lowest enlistment rate and the lowest retention rate. If one is to survive the experience of being a doctor or nurse on board a vessel such as the _Enterprise_, one must have exceptional emotional resiliency.

Scotty is an engineer. He has had contact with the wounded—he and Pavel transport us on a regular basis. He has seen the captain bloodied, he has seen all of us bloodied, at some point. However, he has never had to create corpses, as Jim, Sulu, Nyota, and I have, and he has never failed the wounded, as Leonard and Christine have. That fact, combined with the fact that he was possessed, completely unconscious when he attacked those he cares for most, is making this that much harder to bear and process.

He often sleeps in the biobed adjacent to Nyota's and wakes up sweating from nightmares. There are times when he looks at Nyota and fear is evident in his eyes. Fear that he might have lost her, fear that he might be possessed and strike again. Nyota and Jim make every effort to assure him over and over, through their actions, that they do not blame him and that they are not afraid of him. They answer his unvoiced worries and say without words that this fear he has of himself is unfounded. He is not a monster, and it is ridiculous to think he might ever become one.

Leonard simply shakes his head and tells Scotty to give himself time to heal. He's prescribed psychotherapy sessions with Christine. Scotty has not attended a session as of yet. Christine does not push him on the matter, saying that he'll talk about it when he's ready. She stated that therapy is useless if one does not actively want assistance in the matter.

Nevertheless, despite the emotional and psychological toll, he is remarkably himself. He continues to play pranks on others, he does not pass up an opportunity to make an engineering joke or some reference to Scotland. Scotty has taken a vigorous interest in pushing his sandwich making abilities to new limits, sometimes producing combinations that make Nyota scrunch her face in the most intriguing expressions of disgust. Rumor has it that he has made improvements to his still, experimenting with the varieties of moonshine. Nyota makes a point to watch his alcohol consumption. As far as she can tell, it has slightly increased, but there is nothing to cause alarm.

Nyota is recovering steadily. In her report of the situation, she wrote that she did not see her attacker since the fog was so thick. It never occurred to her that it was Scotty, and the attack came so quickly that she did not ever clearly see his face. The darkness, combined with mist, spared her the knowledge that Scotty was the one who stabbed her. She has chosen not to watch the security feeds of my confrontation with Redjac in the brig cell. The tapes and all files are also strictly off limits to Scotty, as mandated by Starfleet regulations. We would not show him in any case. He seems to have no interest in hacking the systems to gain access. Nyota has joked that archaic daggered weapons seem to be the object of choice when it comes to her wounds. She was already stabbed by the Gorn, shot with an arrow, and now stabbed again.

Jim is taking this all in stride. Nyota says that 'a bored Jim is an annoying Jim', and she understands why Leonard always designs an intense recovery regimen. They apparently have spent a considerable amount of time trading stories about me. Nyota has known me since she enrolled in the Academy, and Jim is apparently eager to hear any and every anecdote she has to offer. I am uncertain as to what to make of this development. Compared to who I am today, the person who taught at the Academy is almost unrecognizable. I have changed drastically.

Sulu and I have coordinated our schedules to spend time with Pavel. He had a strong reaction to Jim's near death state. In retrospect, it is surprising that he did not have such reactions sooner, given what he has seen and done on board this ship. Sulu decided early on that work-related activities were strictly prohibited. He and Pavel had introduced me to hologames. We had such games on Vulcan, but they were for educational or training purposes. These games are purely for recreation and they cover a range of genres. Sulu favors racing games. It would seem that Sulu's skills as a pilot might have their origin in them. I must admit a certain satisfaction in participating in an activity as casual as this one, among friends. Sulu and Chekov can become extremely competitive in the process of trying to edge each other out. I have won several races simply by waiting for the moment when one is disabled and the other has spent all his resources in that effort. There have been times, however, when they double-teamed me.

These past few missions have been standard scientific missions. Number One secured three ordinary, or 'vanilla' as Jim likes to call them, missions. Leonard and I report to her regularly, updating her on the general health and overall mood of the crew. The tension is dissipating. We do not have the luxury of going on such missions indefinitely, however. Number One made it clear that the upcoming missions are of an unpredictable nature.


	204. Ch 204

"Scotty."

He was staring out from the Observation Deck to a view of the warp nacelles.

"Nyota has been asking after you."

He did not turn.

"Mr. Scott?"

When he made no response, I turned to leave.

"I was thinking of that man. Hengist."

Silence.

"It wasn't his fault that Redjac took him over. Not any more than it was mine for everything—" his voice shook.

I stepped forward to stand beside him. Scotty turned and to my surprise, his eyes were tinged with red.

"We've forgotten about him entirely. But that was a man who died there, Spock, and—"

_We live in such a regular state of emergency that we have, in many ways, become desensitized._

"And it could've been me. It could just as easily have been me."

_Scotty is an engineer, not a soldier._

"What did Pavel say about him? He used to be a standup comedian?"

_There are times when he looks at Nyota and fear is evident in his eyes._

"I'd've liked to have known him. Sat down and had a few drinks with him. He can't have been a bad sort, not if—"

_He is not a monster, and it is ridiculous to think he might ever become one._

"Not if—"

Silence.

_We live in such a regular state of emergency that we have, in many ways, become desensitized._

"Do you ever think about these things, Spock?"

_We do not truly process our emotions, and our post-traumatic stress will be 'a thing of gruesome wonder'._

"I have. At a certain point, however, it becomes difficult to remember the deaths of those one considers an enemy, when so many friends have already died."

We held services for the security personnel, Lt. Graboish and Ensign Telonius. The crew has gathered around Nyota and Scotty to support them through any difficulties they might face. We have found means by which to cope with the memories of the madness. No one desires to look back at that vision of a monster and see the real face. Hengist's identity, his memory has been marred in our minds by the mask of Redjac.

"I don't—it must be different, working in Command. You know everyone we lose."

_We live in such a regular state of emergency that we have, in many ways, become desensitized._

"I do. The captain and I know every name and face."

It is a strange though common phenomenon in the military—the majority of our casualties are actually replacements. They are unused to the workings of a starship and they do not have the instincts the veterans have honed over these past two years. In some ways, it makes their loss easier to bear. We have not known them or worked with them as extensively as the others, and that unfamiliar face is soon replaced with another.

"Engineering's different."

Pause.

"We don't get very many casualties. Not like the Security Department."

_Scotty is an engineer, not a soldier._

"I've worked with some of those lads and ladies for the whole mission, now. I can't imagine—"

There was a time when neither Jim nor I could imagine.

A planet lost. A city lost. So many casualties along the way. It becomes difficult to remember the deaths of those with whom one did not have a close connection, when so many friends have already died.

"I can't imagine—"

_Our post-traumatic stress will be 'a thing of gruesome wonder'._

Silence.

"He must've had a mother. And friends."

Jim asking the Organians, _How can you be so fucking indifferent_?

"If we—if I happened on him in a pub, I'd've sat down and traded a few jokes with him. He might've—we could've—"

_But just because events repeat and situations aren't unique, doesn't mean the people in them aren't. Those millions of lives? Every single one of them is unique._

A planet lost, a city lost, so many casualties along the way. It becomes difficult to remember the deaths of friends, when we must continue on our next mission, our next destination, our duties every shift.

_You won't find another person in this fucking universe who's exactly like them. Those millions of lives make each time unique._

I put my hand on Scotty's shoulder.

"I must return to my duties, but if you should desire to make funeral arrangements for Mr. Hengist, the captain and I will attend."

_Scotty is an engineer, not a soldier._

And in working through the emotional and psychological toll, he is remarkably himself—generous, affable, and compassionate in his unique way.

"I'll do it."

Because it needs to be done. We need to be reminded. For Hengist was once an ordinary being with aspirations in his own right, before Redjac coerced him into an unconscious servant perpetuating terror. We may not have known him—we never will—but that does not mean Hengist's memory should be overshadowed by the legacy of Redjac.

"Thank you, Spock."

"It is you I should thank," I replied, voice quiet.

For Scotty is an engineer, not a soldier; Leonard is a doctor, not a commander; Pavel is not seventeen, but not twenty; Sulu is a pilot who reads _Don Quijote_; Nyota is a soldier and ndugu; Christine is a nurse somehow always steady. I am a soldier and a scientist.

Jim is a captain.

We need to be reminded. Remember.

"I'll get it all done. Arrangements, everything."

I nodded. Scotty blew his nose and wiped his eyes. We both turned from the Observation Deck to head back to our respective duties.

"Spock?"

I looked at him.

"Would a few sandwiches for the reception be amiss at a funeral?"

And in working through the emotional and psychological toll, he is remarkably himself.


	205. Ch 205

I have never desired to see the mind of a monster.

REDJAC REDJAC REDJAC REDJAC I REMEMBER I REMEMBER I REMEMBER _YOU_! I WILL KILL KILL SPILL WILL NILL KILL KILL YOU KIRK! KILL YOU AND EVERYTHING YOU LOVE EVERYTHING EVERYTHING TO NOTHING!

Pictures of another universe, another life, another _Enterprise_ where Redjac was obsessed with

SUCH BEAUTIFUL HAIR AND FLOWING LIMBS SUCH A LOVELY NECK AND SMOOTH SKIN SUCH A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT TO SEE BLOODIED IN A RING AROUND THE ROSIE THE NOOSE AROUND HER NECK THE WOMEN BLEEDING SLOWLY THE TERROR AND THE SCENT

It lived once on Terra and traveled through the galaxy, occupying bodies as it went along. I do not know how it was able to traverse between galaxies. Nor do I have any wish to study it.

THE TERROR AND THE SCENT OF RINGS AROUND HER NECK AND _KIRK_! RUINED EVERYTHING ALL MY FUN THE HUNGER THE _HUNGER_ SO LONG SPREAD THIN SO LONG SPREAD APART _SO LONG SO LONG_ I REMEMBER I REMEMBER I REMEMBER YOU!

Redjac's strategy against being dislodged from Scotty's mind was to inundate me with every plan it had, every image of the crew mangled and tortured and dead. Or mad, as mad as Redjac itself. Infected with mind disease and a thirst for terror.

I'VE WAITED FOR SO LONG TO TASTE THIS HOT REVENGE I'VE WAITED FOR SO LONG TO RIP YOU INTO SHREDJAC REDJAC REDJAC I'LL START WITH YOUR CREW I'LL MAKE YOU WATCH I'LL START WITH YOUR CREW I'LL MAKE YOU WATCH

I am glad Jim was spared the experience. It was difficult, wading through the acid sewage that corroded my shields.

HOW DO YOU LIKE IT LIKE IT _LIKE IT_? LIKE IT LIKE IT LOVE IT THE BLOOD THE RED OH REDJAC IS ME IN THIS BODY! JUST WAIT. JUST WAIT, THE WORST IS YET TO COME! THE WORST IS _YET TO COME_!

I was fortunate that Redjac was not a telepathic creature, else it would have latched into my thoughts and memories and used that to terrorize me. It feeds off emotions and attempts to harvest them from its prey, but it is not able to access that emotion directly. As Pavel said, it must induce a reaction by other means.

RING AROUND THE ROSIE POCKET FULL OF ROSIES ASHES SLASHES I REMEMBER YOU!

It is finished.

We are all alive.

THIS ONE'S A LOVELY ONE AND DING DONG THE CAPTAIN'S DEAD RAIN MAY FALL AND WIND MAY BLOW MANY MILES TO BE THE VEINS STRETCHED OUT OF HIS WRISTS CHOKE HIM WITH THE STRINGS OF HIS STOMACH!

We are all alive.

* * *

"Spock. _Spock_, open the door."

I made no move to get up from my position.

"Damnit you green-blooded hobgoblin, I _will_ use my override if you don't open this door right now."

Silence.

"I know you're not meditating."

I went and spoke through the terminal.

"Dr. McCoy, if you would kindly return to your duties."

"No. M'Benga's in Sickbay, you haven't checked in for the psych exam. And don't say you're fine."

A pause.

"I find myself reluctant to revisit the events that transpired on Argelius."

"I know. It stings the first few minutes, but it'll get better. Now open this door or I'll drag you out myself."

"You are physically incapable of doing so."

"You're that sure, are you? Well I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

Of course. The hypo.

"If you are planning to administer a hypospray, I assure you it is not necessary."

"After that neat trick you pulled in the transporter room? I'll get back at you for that."

A pause.

"Come on, Spock. I've released Nyota. Gave her the all clear to go on duty again."

"I thank you for that notification."

"Damnit, Spock, open the door. I feel like a fool talking to a bulkhead like this. We're not brothers, for God's sakes."

I opened the bulkheads.

"Is this what brothers in Terran families do on a regular basis?"

"No," Leonard snorted. "That's what quarrelling couples do. Do you ever put Jim in the doghouse?"

I raised an eyebrow.

"I am uncertain as to what that means."

"You know, make him sleep on the couch if he misbehaves or forgets your birthday."

"I am uncertain as to why failing to recall my date of birth would result in my depriving him of his bed."

"Forget I mentioned it."

Leonard looked at me expectantly.

"Sickbay. Psych eval," he said.

"I do not need—"

"Don't try and worm your way outta this one. Now get."

* * *

M'Benga pursed his lips.

"You have been under a considerable amount of stress."

"It is unavoidable in this line of work."

"Contact with Redjac cannot have improved anything."

"I am meditating regularly to modulate my emotional responses."

"Yes, I can see that. You have been managing this remarkably well."

I nodded.

"However, I will suggest that you take two shifts off. Allow Lt. Uhura and Lt. Sulu to run the ship."

"May I ask the justification for this prescription?"

"Spock," M'Benga looked at me evenly. "You witnessed your colleague and friend stab both your captain and your best friend dozens of time while under the influence of a psychotic alien entity. You witnessed a series of stabbings again in the courtroom, not to mention the fact that you were subjected to emotional manipulation by Hengist. You then had telepathic contact with that entity in order to remove it from Montgomery Scott's body, fully prepared to rip yourself apart at the subatomic level should your alternative solutions fail.

"All the while, your captain and best friend were unconscious, your colleague wavering in semi-madness, and the entire crew looking to you to guide them from this psychological nightmare. You have remained acting captain in the aftermath to provide the crew with a sense of security and boost their morale—yes, we have all noticed. I assure you that you have succeeded brilliantly on both counts.

"However, now that some sense of calm is returning, you need to step back. Forgive me if I believe that merits a few shifts of rest."

"I am—"

"—a remarkable Vulcan. Two shifts taken for the purpose to recuperation does not imply weakness. It is the rational course of action, or there will be severe consequences in the future. As we say in medicine, 'prevention is the best cure.'"

I remained seated.

"Your logic is sound."

"Spend some time with the captain. I noticed that neither of you has had very much time for each other. You have been preoccupied with duties and the captain is working through Leonard's backbreaking physical therapy."

"I will take your suggestion under consideration."


	206. Ch 206

"Woah, easy there," Jim laughed.

I ripped his shirt in the process of attempting to pull it off. I stripped down efficiently and then proceeded to kiss Jim, pressing him into the bed.

"I knew it."

I easily got him out of his loose pants and boxers.

"What do you know?" I asked, trailing my hand up his thigh.

"You miss me. You miss _this_," he grabbed my other hand and licked from my inner wrist to the tip of my middle finger.

"This was unclear?"

Jim nipped my index finger as my free hand traced the line of muscle to the curve of bone.

"No," he said, slightly breathless. "I knew rationally," he inhaled sharply, rationality fleeting. "Knew rationally that you did, but you were always so busy."

I gripped his hand and adjusted my position, pinning him.

"Then let me make very clear," I whispered into his ear, "exactly how much," I kissed the rounded tip while my hand was occupied elsewhere, "I have missed you."

Jim smirked.

"I might need clarification on that point a couple of times."

I kissed him, hard.

"Certainly."

* * *

"Feel better?" Jim asked, his hand in my hair.

I listened to his heartbeat.

"Terran hearts beat very slowly, compared to Vulcans."

Jim made a sound of agreement.

"Does it bother you?"

"No. I find it soothing."

I could feel happiness and a sense of elation run through Jim.

"You said that Vulcans meld when they have sex. Why haven't we?"

"I would like to do so when I have better control of my telepathy. Without that control, I may enter parts of your mind that you do not wish to grant me access."

"I don't know how much control anyone can have over their telepathy while they're coming, Spock."

"It is a skill rarely required among Vulcans," I agreed. "The bond makes such considerations irrelevant."

Jim smiled.

"Skills. I guess that means a lot of practice," he shifted around until he straddled me. "We could start now. What's the easiest thing to do?"

"Initiating a meld before intercourse."

"I guess that makes sense. You can control how deep it goes from the beginning."

"There is some risk of being drawn deeper into each other's minds as intercourse proceeds. However, if I successfully—"

Jim leaned down and kissed me, taking my hands in his.

"Skip the science lesson. Just do it."

"You relish the thought of doing this."

"I like being in your mind."

"As I recall, the first time we formally melded, you found the sensation disquieting."

"It took a little while getting used to it."

neutron stars and falling falling falling

"I'm good now."

He put my hand to the approximate location of his psi points.

"You are sure."

_Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure_.

I looked into his eyes, searching his face. There is nothing but confidence in that look. Nothing of lightless stars, nothing of the crushing pull of memory.

He is sure.

I am not. Nevertheless, I arrange my fingers on his face and

"My mind to your mind"

_my thoughts to your thoughts_

_

* * *

_

Do you have to keep your fingers on my face if you want to hold the meld?

I am attempting to establish a deeper connection so that we will have more range of movement. The meld will not be quite the same intensity as our previous explorations.

We need the bond to do that.

Yes.

in our minds, a mental kiss. he thinks of that possibility, but those thoughts are quickly overtaken by his impatience and eagerness to try this new variation of intercourse.

Are you ready, Jim?

Yeah. Ready.

Very well.

(my fingers slide away) the meld slightly recedes and I take the lead (reverse our positions and Jim lies under me, eyes glowing unearthly blue) refraining from overloading him with too much sensory information (brush my hand along his cheekbone, through his hair, taking in the sight of him anticipating) anticipating an experience like he's never had before (naked and open) naked and open (lean down and kiss him from the end of his jawline down his neck, one hand skimming down his arm, tracing the lines of his muscles and he is gasping) gasping because mixed into the heat of my touch (green of my fingers) are emotions are thoughts are flashes of images eroticism concentrated and the comprehension (my hand continues to the inside of his callused palm down the lengths of his fingers) that I am _taking_ him in the fullest sense of the word, that after this sex can never be the same, ecstasy can never be the same because I know his body and his mind like no one else (kissing him on the spot right at the base of his neck that makes him expose it completely to give me total access) his intuitive understanding that from this moment forward _this_ will the defining standard against which he compares all other encounters (raking my teeth over his skin and gripping his hand) and _this_ is what Vulcans call sex (slowly, so slowly moving down leaving a trail and everywhere I touch) leaves him wanting more leaves him with ghost impressions of my (fingers and lips on his abdomen) it strikes him as a little strange because normally by this time he might already by crazy with desire but the meld allows me to moderate the pacing of both our bodies so that I can bring him slowly, so slowly, to climax (hand between his legs) _comprehension_ that by the time this is over 'mind-blowing' will mean something else entirely (exploring his body anew because with each touch I feel) his reaction I know exactly what (pressing my thumb there, and there, and fingernail against his thigh) does to him, remapping familiar territory with sensations that keep building and building because when he said meticulous (attentive to every odd place that makes him inhale sharply the little spots no one would ever think to kiss but me) he did not know the meaning of _meticulous_

I have not even started to use my tongue.

he loses himself

loses himself in layered sensation and I prepare so carefully, so thoroughly, his mind and body, not only working towards the climax but setting up shields and safeguards wherever cracks appear so that ecstasy does not suddenly induce a nightmare or blow away the walls of his memory. he's vaguely aware of this but mostly (his breathing is coming quicker, faster) and I adjust it slightly so instead of shallow gasps he's (breathing deeper down his body his heart rate's steady, steady and climbing) mostly (heat and blood and muscles aching) mostly he's lust and _Spock_ and touch me here kiss me more please more more and yes and god (sweat, his body thrumming anticipation) anticipation feeling him like this (seeing him like this sweating and tense and wanting needing arching groaning) mind reaching wanting to _feel_ and feel and feel he doesn't know what but wants it bad and please and more and faster deeper slower higher wet and straining faster slower faster slower can't decide just please and please and more and moans so good and there touch there there _there_ harder do it do it come on and oh god your tongue and this must be this must be this must be

but not yet

he almost falls apart

I have not even started to use my mind.

the comprehension that I was holding back until until until I'm in him I let go and _this_ is where sex truly begins _this_ is where it's not only me giving him pleasure but receiving pleasure in return opening the gates of his understanding and he (kisses me touches me tightens his legs around me) feels me in his mind and (body knows the angle and the pace) and it's not only him building to anticipation (_anticipation_) but us and building he didn't know it could be like this didn't know it could be like this oh god it's so good like this and layered between is us feeling each other the sensations distinct but intermingled somehow and it still feels a little strange a little confusing a little bewildering but I'm there in his mind in his body setting the pace controlling and reassuring him and telling him to let go let go let go just feel (feeling and feeling everywhere from kisses and straining and body) and mind trying to find the unison find the sync the beat and when it finally happens when we're finally in the rhythm of (arching panting moaning saying saying names losing) losing himself myself we're rushing to the finale buildup finally roaring in (blood and heartbeats and my name on his lips) sound and scent associations of light and blinding and rush and high (sweat and scent of him of _him_) images that aren't images and elation feeling feeling feeling come on come on Spock come on wait a little wait a little please I can't wait a little just please god please wait a little

and one last movement calculated to finally finally

calculated carefully intuitive I know him I know him better than anyone and he is _mine_ marked in mind and body mind and body

finally finally

please Spock god oh god

incoherence and _this_ is what Vulcans call sex and _this_ is why they mate for life because with anyone else it doesn't compare with anyone else it isn't the same isn't the same as knowledge combined with sexual power the deep fire in our blood combined with mental discipline to give a new definition to ecstasy

a new definition to ecstasy

definition to ecstasy

to ecstasy

and he's incoherent in his own mind the shields I set up are straining against the pressure of anticipation the build up of all the sensation

(and I brush my hand along his cheekbone, through his hair damp with sweat, taking in the sight of him completely anticipating) naked and open (naked and open) to an experience he's never had before never had before (lean down and kiss him on his lips, take his hand taste the sweetness of his mouth of his hands almost trembling) and he's beautiful like this naked and open (naked and open and I take in the sight of him one last time blue eyes now black with want) checking the shields one last time and they bear up under the pressure (take in the sight of him one last time) naked and open (naked and open) one last time.

I let go.

And we are undone.


	207. Ch 207

"And now for something completely different."

Nyota and I were on a minor diplomatic mission. The planet's dignitaries invited us to join in watching the premier of a revolutionary revival of some old Terran skits. Part of the motivation for the unique selection was to honor the captain. As Dr. McCoy has not yet cleared him for duty, Nyota and I took the mission on instead.

"Good evening!" the actor shouted. "First, take a bunch of flowers" they took a fist of blossoms in their hand, "pretty begonias, irises, freesias, and cry-manthesums!" The actor paused. Another actor appeared on stage. "Then... arrange them... _nicely_... in a vase!" The first actor proceeded to stuff the flowers into the other's mouth. "Get in! Get in!"

The actor continued to stuff flowers until the other almost seemed to be choking.

The scene abruptly changed. Beside me, I could feel Nyota's curiosity and confusion.

"Have you ever seen these before?" she whispered to me and looked down at the program. "'A Selection of Tragic Skits from _Monty Python's Flying Circus_.'"

"I am unfamiliar with that body of work."

"Was it supposed to be that way?"

I shook my head to indicate that I did not know.

Three actors and a chorus appeared on stage and arranged themselves in a semicircle. They were all wearing heavy robes and dramatic metal masks.

"Morning," said the first mask, frowning.

"Morning!" replied the second, whose expression was cheery.

"What you got, then?" asked the third, its mask sad.

"Well there's egg and bacon, uh egg sausage and bacon, egg and spam, egg bacon and spam, egg bacon sausage and spam, spam bacon sausage and spam, spam egg spam spam bacon and spam, spam spam spam egg and spam, spam spam spam spam spam spam baked beans and spam spam spam and spam; or lobster thermidor aux crevettes with mornay sauce garnished with truffle pâté, brandy and a fried egg on top and spam."

All of this was spoken in the most serious of tones, the voice mournful and pained.

Nyota looked torn between shock and laughter.

"Have you got anything without spam in it?" the second asked in that same depressed voice.

"Well spam egg sausage and spam, it's not got much spam in it."

Nyota was shaking with silent laughter.

"I don't want any spam," the second replied, forlorn.

"Why can't she have egg bacon spam and sausage?" the third cried in grief.

"That's got spam in it!" the second moaned.

"Not as much as spam egg sausage and spam," the third replied.

"Look, could I have egg bacon spam and sausage without the spam?"

"Ugh!" the first sang, voice like a soprano in a tragic opera.

"What do you mean, 'ugh'?!" the second wailed. "I don't like spam!"

Then the chorus began circling around the three principle figures, their voices dirge-like.

"Spam spam spam spam spamity spam lovely spam! Wonderful spam!"

It is certainly an interesting case of cultural misunderstandings.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" the first sang to the chorus, then turned to the second. "You can't have egg bacon sausage and spam without the spam!"

"Why not?!" they asked, voice imploring.

"Well it wouldn't be egg bacon spam and sausage would it?"

"I don't like spam!!"

Nyota was attempting to compose herself by breathing in deeply and exhaling slowly. She was not succeeding.

Perhaps stranger still, the dignitaries beside us were drooling, this culture's equivalent to Terran tears.

"Oh don't make a fuss, dear," the third said, voice small and pitiful. "I'll have your spam, I love it. I'm having spam spam spam spam spam spam baked beans and spam spam spam and spam."

It was as though the third were making some sort of large sacrifice on behalf of the second.

"Baked beans are off," the first announced.

"Well can I have spam instead?" the third begged.

"You mean spam spam spam spam spam spam spam spam spam spam and spam?"

Sung as if it was an unspeakable crime, a tragedy of enormous proportions.

"Yes!"

"Ugh!"

I rather wonder what Jim would have made of this. If Nyota is having trouble keeping her laughter in check, I doubt that Jim would be able to contain it. In certain respects, however, this performance is more bewildering than humorous.

"Spamity spam! Wonderful spam!" the chorus circled around once more.

"Shut up!"

Suddenly, a figure descended from the top of the stage riding a mechanical dragon. It costume was ornate and its mask brilliantly decorated.

"Oh my god," Nyota whispered. "It's deus ex machina!"

"Great boobies honey bun!" the figure boomed. "My lower intestine is full of spam egg spam bacon spam tomato spam—"

"Shut up!" the first sang, as though this was a revelation. They covered their face with their hands, in awe of the god.

"My nipples explode!" the figure declared, pointing to the mortals below.

"Shut up!"

"Spamity spam! Wonderful spam!" the chorus bowed down, this time reverent.

As the machine lowered, the figure dismounted from the dragon and walked among the characters and chorus, giving the final resolution to this bizarre skit.

"Another great Viking victory was at the Green Midget Cafe in Bromley. Once again, the Viking strategy was the same. They sailed from these fjords here, assembled at Trondheim, and waited for the strong Northeasterly winds to blow their oaken galleys to England, whence they sailed on May the twenty-third. Once in Bromley, they assembled in the Green Midget Cafe and spam selecting a spam particular spam item from the spam menu would spam spam..."

"Spam spam spam spam spamity spam lovely spam! Wonderful spam!"

"Haagbard Etheldronga and his Viking hordes are currently appearing in _Grin and Pillage It_ at the Jodrell Theatre in Colwyn Bay. The dirty Hungarian phrase book is available from Her Majesty's Stationery Office. Price—a kiss on the bum."

The curtains closed. The audience erupted in applause, absolutely enthralled by some unknown drama. Each of the actors came out and unmasked themselves, glowing with the reception they received.

Nyota was laughing and laughing and laughing, applauding and on her feet for a completely different reason.

"And now for something completely different."

As diverting and puzzling as it was, that was only the first act. There were four more. By the end of the production, Nyota didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

* * *

"That was exhausting," Nyota collapsed onto my bed. She took the tea from my hands. "Thanks."

For a moment, we simply sat together. Nyota inhaled deeply and took a sip.

"Scotty told me that Monty Python was famous a long time ago, sometime during pre-Warp. It was apparently British comedy?"

"I cannot imagine that it made any sense even in its day."

"Comedy doesn't age very well," she nodded. "I wonder why that is. Maybe that's why the director and the actors thought it was a tragedy?"

"Comedy often draws heavily on the social context for its material. It exaggerates certain aspects of a person or situation in order to make that which was serious, ridiculous. That in turn implies a collective knowledge unique to a time, space, and culture which is difficult to translate."

"Well, there's always humor using bodies."

"What do you mean?"

"There are some classic comedians of the silent film era—they relied purely on images and body language to create situations that were humorous."

"Even that is dependent on species."

"True. There's also Don Quixote, where the all the pain and abuse he suffers is humorous because it's so exaggerated and the readers are aware that it's not real. He gets hit on the head, then gets back on his horse a few moments later."

"You have read _Don Quixote_?"

"It sounded interesting when Sulu was reading it to you. Did you finish reading it? I assume he didn't finish the entire book while you were in Sickbay."

"I finished in my spare time, yes."

Nyota nodded.

"Ndugu, what is spam, as referred to in the first act? I was under the impression that they were unwanted transmissions peddling various pharmaceuticals and genitalia enhancements."

She coughed into her tea at my phrasing, and shot me a look. I feigned innocence.

"_Speaking_ of humor," she said. "And knowing people. You like to play off people's expectations of who you are and what they think goes on in that mind of yours."

I merely sipped my tea.

She shook her head, smiling.

"Spam was, I think, a processed meat way way back in the day, on Earth. It had a very high sodium content and a disgusting pink color. Not something anyone would _think_ of eating it today, but it was popular once, I guess."

"Terrans are a perplexing species."

Nyota grinned.

"You're half Terran."

"I am well aware of this."

"You know what they say about Vulcan brains. It's 'a puzzle, wrapped inside an enigma, housed inside a cranium'. I don't think I could come up with a better description."

"On the contrary, there is nothing clearer than a well organized Vulcan mind. It is only logical."

Nyota leaned back and stretched, yawning. She winced slightly and rubbed the spots corresponding to her knife wounds.

"Do you still experience pain?"

"No, not usually. It feels sore when I've had a long day. How is everything with Jim?"

"Proceeding as usual. He is recovering quickly."

"They really know what they're doing in Sickbay. I can see why Jim hates it there."

I did not comment on the seeming contradiction in her statement.

"How are you?" I asked. "Has Scotty's sleep schedule normalized?"

"A little. He manages to get three or four hours of sleep a night."

"And you?"

Hesitation.

"I'm fine."

Silence.

"You are certain."

She looked down and nodded.

"I dream sometimes."

Inhale. Exhale.

"I imagine that I actually saw Scotty's face on my attacker, all dark shadows and terror. But it's nothing compared to the nightmares Scotty has sometimes."

"If you need anything, you know that I am available."

Nyota sat up and embraced me.

"Thanks, Spock."

When we separated, there was a slight sheen in her eyes.

I raised my eyebrow.

She laughed, and hit my arm.

"I'm fine, ndugu. _Lililo moyoni ulimi huiba_."


	208. Ch 208

"You're quiet. Something up?"

"No. There is nothing particular to report."

Silence.

"Bones says I should be out of here in a few shifts. I'll go back on light duty, no away missions, blah blah blah. The usual stuff."

"That is good to hear."

Jim looked at me.

"All right, now I _know_ something's up."

"It will be fine."

"I've been hearing that a lot from everyone lately. Fine. You, Nyota, Scotty. Bones, Chris. 'I'm fine'. Even Sulu and Chekov. Want to tell me what the hell's actually going on?"

"There is nothing to be done. It will resolve itself with time."

A pause.

"Come here."

"Captain—"

"Come here, Spock."

I moved closer to him.

He motioned for me to come closer still, then took my hand.

"I was thinking the other day about bonding. You know?"

Chest tightens.

"Yes?"

He traced the line of my fingers.

"Well, you know. I don't know when we could get to Vulcan II to get it done—"

"Jim," breathing his name.

"What's that thing you like to say a lot? 'I wouldn't be averse to' whatever?"

Folding my fingers over his, holding that contact.

"Let's do it."

Through that touch surety and anticipation, desire and wonder, and I feel as though I am holding my breath because I did not realize he was thinking of this, the joy the elation of the thought of having a bond, a permanent link and yet—

And yet—

He thinks the memories are forgotten and at this moment, they are the farthest thing from his mind. He thinks the rips in his mindspace are negligible but they pull. They pull me, tear into him and unless this is somehow resolved, I fear a bond will break whatever walls he has erected and completely swallow him in the abyss of forgotten memories.

We need more time.

That does not mean I cannot begin to make preparations.

My father did ask that I send him transmissions more often.

"Spock?" uncertainty and worry in that look.

I kiss him. I have no words, except—

"Yes."

* * *

"Father, when you were bonded with mother," I hesitated to complete my question.

"Ask, my son. I will answer if I am able."

"Is it possible for you to describe the experience of being bonded with her? I am uncertain as to what to expect."

My father's eyes grew distant as he looked into some point in the past. The silence between us stretched.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to—"

"There is nothing to forgive, my son. I am not offended by your inquiry, nor does the memory of your mother cause me grief, as it once did. I am able to think of her clearly, without the pain of separation distorting her image. In truth, I am glad you asked. However, I must first give you an explanation long overdue, before I may give you an answer."

I nodded. My father has changed, but in one aspect he is the same: he delivers lengthy lectures.

"You well know that all Vulcans are bonded to a mate in early childhood. The ceremony of bonding had existed before Surak's time, but it was uncommon. After Surak, the practice became an increasingly popular solution to alleviate the problems brought on by pon farr. It was found that the male's plak tow was more bearable and less violent when there was mate with whom to share and express that drive. However, in the early days after our conversion to logic, the bonding did not take place at such a young age. Individuals chose their bondmates, rather than having a bondmate chosen for them. It is generally agreed among our scholars that the choice was made with great consideration. Pon farr is an intensely personal experience, thus it was logical that Vulcans preferred to bond with individuals they trusted and valued above others.

"After the establishment of the Vulcan High Council, bonding became mandatory. The benefits and increased emotional stability brought on by bonding made is such that passing a statute was only logical. As Vulcans learned more about bonding, they discovered that it was much easier to create a link between two children compared to two adults. Studies showed no adverse effects to early bonding, which for the Council was sufficient justification to issue a decree that all children, particularly male children, would be bonded by the age of seven. Families were granted the right to choose the bondmates of their children, but in all other respects the laws were inflexible. The right for females to break the link with their bondmate came later, after several tragic incidents and a prolonged debate.

"For the most part, we accepted this as logical and followed the rules put forth. The origins of the rituals surrounding bonding and pon farr are fascinatingly complex, as some aspects are holdovers from the days before Surak, others from the times of voluntary bonding, and still others seem to have been invented at different periods in our history. On Vulcan, different regions had very different ceremonies, though the central components were essentially the same. Here on the colony, because of the drastic nature of the situation after the destruction of our planet, mating rituals are undergoing a startling evolution. Attitudes towards mating are also changing. More surviving adults are choosing to withhold their children from being bonded at the age of seven. Vulcans are rediscovering all the intricate complexities of choosing their own mate. Courting rituals have reemerged, and survivors have taken to subtly inventing their own traditions when those that exist do not meet the needs of their situation."

"You seem pleased by this development."

"You are correct in your assessment."

"I do not comprehend the reason. To ensure the survival of our species, is it not logical to bond the remaining adults with one another so that we might repopulate our new planet? Would it not be more imperative to bond the children as well?"

"It is not quite as simple as it appears, my son. In the course of rebuilding our society some facts have come to light concerning the nature of the bond.

"The High Council thought as you did, and immediately issued a mandate that all survivors be bonded. However, the first couple for whom the link was formed, both the male and female died three days after the bond was formed. The second couple, the male died. Others became gravely ill with depression or exhibited signs of rampancy. It was evident that the new bonds were the cause of this, but the reason was unclear. To prevent more deaths, the new links were dissolved and the healers set about to answer the question.

"What was discovered surprised the Council and our society, though I do not see why it should have been so. We have always been an emotional species. The fact that we suppress our emotions does not mean that we should conduct ourselves as though they do not exist.

"The healers found that the minds were rejecting the new bonds. The individuals were mourning the loss of their mates, and to be forced into a new link when the psychological wound was still raw and open was too much for their overwhelmed emotions. The mind responded by dying or rebelling against that link. It was also found that the grief of some Vulcans was deeper than others, which in turn leads to the implication that some links between mates are stronger than others. Again, I am not certain why this came as a surprise, for it is something I have known for a long time.

"I told you long ago that you have a half brother, my son by a Vulcan woman. She and I were bonded as children, and when it came time for me to mate, I followed the ritual without second thought or consideration. There was no reason for me to question it, as it was the only path I knew. My father followed it, all of Vulcan society followed it, and so I followed it. Our relationship was an ordinary one, our bond was neither weak nor strong. It simply existed, as it always had and I assumed that it always would.

"Then, my first wife died unexpectedly. I felt the bond between us stretch and dissolve, and I was left with a void in my mind. For the first time, I felt the yawning chasm of being alone in my own mind. However my grief was shallow, for I did not truly mourn the loss of my bond with her, but simply mourned the loss of the state of being bonded to another. Still, I did not know that my emotions were dilute, as it was the first time I experienced such feelings, and grief and loneliness are powerful emotions no matter their relative intensity. During this period of my life, I worked intensely to further my diplomatic career. I did not seek a bond with another. The thought of being randomly bonded to an individual I did not know was intolerable to me, and I refused all the arrangements T'Pau put forward. I knew I wanted more than a simple bond—though my bond with my first wife was not deep, at that point it the only bond I had experienced, and therefore the deepest. We did not love each other, but we had still shared our lives together, and that contributed to the strength of our link.

"I rose through the ranks in the diplomatic corps, bringing superfluous power and prestige to our family name. All the while, I searched for one with whom I might mate and sustain a link. After some years, I concluded that my search was unsuccessful, and began to seriously consider giving it up entirely.

"Then, I was assigned as ambassador to the planet Terra. I had already visited the planet several times and was fascinated by the emotional nature of its sentient species. In the diplomatic corps, Terra is considered to be something of a dangerous assignment. Ambassadors to the planet always come back changed, with unorthodox beliefs. It is an important assignment, as large parts of Federation headquarters are housed on that planet, but Vulcans try to avoid extended exposure to Terran culture. I spoke to a former ambassador to Terra before going on the assignment, and he reported that the few years he stayed on the planet changed his life, both positively and negatively, to the extent that he was not able to adequately describe the change in words. I suggested an information exchange via telepathy, but he refused. I was puzzled by his refusal. All he would offer by way of explanation was that Terra was something I would have to experience for myself.

"I quickly learned the meaning of his words. As a diplomat, I came across several problems in communication. It was not a matter of words lost in translation, but our points of view were diametrically opposed and our rationales for those views were incomparable. There were times when I wished to use my telepathy so that Terrans would see and understand the logic of my arguments, but did not do so. I had to rely on my words and my ability to verbalize my thoughts. As ambassador to this non-telepathic species, I had to work and reshape my thinking in order to come to an agreement with the Terrans. I could see that the Terrans with whom I had daily contact also had to put in considerable effort to comprehend my point of view.

"Through the process of time, however, I found that this slow and inefficient method of communication was in some ways more rewarding than simple telepathy. Though I did not have many close relationships with Terrans, those I did form were deeper than my relationships with most Vulcans. I was puzzled by this contradiction, and meditated on the question for some time. I did not find the answer until I met your mother.

"Among Vulcans, there is rarely ever a misunderstanding that cannot be resolved with relatively little effort. As a result, the comparative amount of time and energy Vulcans devote to interpersonal relationships is much smaller than the average Terran. We have what Terrans can only dream of—the ability to understand one another perfectly. Yet it does not mean as much to us because we do not know what it means to miscommunicate. We are not familiar with isolation Terrans face in their daily lives, we do not carry within us their innate knowledge that no matter what is said, they might be misunderstood. For Terrans, relationships are based on shared experiences and understanding. Part of their shared experience is the mutual effort to communicate with one another and to continue in that endeavor, whatever the emotional costs and whatever the personal price they must pay.

"When I began to court your mother, we often did not agree. Your mother was a stubborn woman, though to be fair, she often accused me of being an equally stubborn male. When she and I argued, I often wanted to communicate with her telepathically. It was logical—it would resolve our problems in an easy and efficient manner. Your mother, however, always refused. At the time, I thought it highly illogical of her and her refusal frustrated me to no end. Over the months I courted her, I began to understand why she chose not to take the easy path, and why she forced me down the harder road as well.

"Something is lost in the process of telepathy. Understanding is gained, but there is an indescribable component of a relationship that is lost, for communication requires effort, and the effort expended is a message in and of itself. It shows that one is willing to try, one is willing to reach out and compromise. There is no such effort required in telepathy. Telepathy reduces communication to a quick exchange of information rather than a shared experience.

"That is how the relationship between your mother and I progressed. At times it was difficult, at times I found her incomprehensible and utterly illogical. No doubt, she felt analogously towards me. But in the end, our relationship was created by real effort on both our parts, and it made us stronger. I learned what it means to love from her, and I believe I learned what it means to live from her. I know I learned what it means to fear from her. When I proposed marriage to your mother, I had no guarantee that she would not refuse me. The minutes before I asked her the question, I was truly afraid that she would reject me. She had told me that she loved me, but I had no telepathic assurance to support those words. I had to trust her. I also had to trust that my own words were adequate to convey my thoughts and feelings.

"That was the profound difference between the link I had with my first wife, and the link I had with your mother. I would not even call the bond between myself and my first wife to be one of love. With your mother—our link was a confirmation of our love, not the foundation of it. It reaffirmed everything we had already said and built in words, it fortified everything we trusted to be true. Thus, when the bond between us was created and I melded with her for the first time, it was like coming home. There is no other way to describe the glow of her love and acceptance anchoring me in her mind.

"I am not certain if you ever took note of this as a child, but your mother and I always vocalized our arguments and worked through our disagreements with words, rather than taking advantage of our link. I believe it made our bond stronger and deeper. When your mother died, the pain I felt at her loss was excruciating. Utterly indescribable. The bond between us snapped, but I also physically ached for her presence, her body, her voice. I loved your mother body and soul. It was not simply an attachment of the mind, but precious thing we created in reality.

"That is what Vulcans are discovering now. There are adults who no longer want their bondmates to serve a simple biological purpose. We are a logical species, but we are not a robotic species. Vulcans are discovering the loneliness of their minds and they want something meaningful to fill that void. Objectively speaking, it is the inefficient way to go about the business of reproduction, but I find that this method operates under a more sophisticated logic."

I was stunned into silence by my father's candor and honesty. Certain facts, certain decisions he made in my life fell into place, particularly his choice not to bond me to another after T'Pring's household severed our connection. His words did not explain everything, particularly his disownment of me after I chose to attend Starfleet. I found, however, that the sting of that injury had long faded. I could look back on that time without the resentment and anger I had felt before. Hindsight gave me the advantage of seeing that the experience changed me. I would not be the same person today if I had not faced those struggles and endured that isolation.

I looked at my father. My mother, and the death of my mother, changed him profoundly.

"I truly am thankful for you, my son," he said quietly. "Your mother lives on in you in so many ways, and for that I am profoundly grateful. I only wish she were alive to see the man you have become. She would have been unspeakably happy to celebrate your bonding."

I nodded.

_As always, whatever you choose to be, you will have a proud mother_.

Silence fell between myself and my father. After an interval, my father spoke again.

"He is a good man, my son. I have seen pictures—the light that burns in his eyes and the love he holds for you in his soul. I will be proud to call him one of my own house."

"Thank you, father," I replied softly. Whatever reception I expected to receive from my father, this was far better.

"You have found more than a bondmate," he continued.

I looked at him, puzzled. The expression on his face was as it always is—calm and stoic, but his eyes gleamed.

"You have found the true meaning of t'hy'la."


	209. Ch 209

Home.

During our transmission, my father sent holoimages of our new estate on Vulcan II. I have been going through the files. My father and T'Pau reconstructed the house exactly as it was, to the last detail. There are several subtle improvements, but most of the traditional architecture has been flawlessly reproduced. It is our house, but it is far from home. The heirlooms are gone, lost in the singularity. There were touches that my mother added, distinctly Terran elements that reminded her of her home planet. Those too were absent. My father has gone through the trouble of acquiring several rare Vulcan pieces to replace our heirlooms, but they only serve to remind me that this is not the home I left only a few years ago.

My memory casts back to my time on Terra, when I resided at Starfleet. That was not home. Despite the fact that I am half human, I do not believe I will ever consider that planet to be my home. I do not deny that it is a part of me. I am drawn to that water-covered world and its people. I have grown to appreciate it through my experience in New York City and through Jim. However, some deep part of me rejects it as a replacement for my lost home. It is too wet, their desert sands are white, their sky is blue and the air does not have the comforting edge of heat.

The colony is certainly suitable for Vulcan's purposes. However, looking closely at the holographic images of the grounds, there are small discrepancies. The plants are not familiar. Those desert plants have evolved in a completely different manner. They are fascinating in their own right and when we are there, I certainly desire to take tricorder readings of the various specimens. But they are not Vulcan. The red sands of that planet are coarser than the fine silt of Vulcan. The shade of the sky is slightly different. Most noticeably, this planet has no sister. The Vulcans who reside here have had time to acclimatize themselves with these differences. I however, am still cataloging the disparities, finally faced with visage of our adopted home.

My mind turns to the _Enterprise_. This ship is where I have lived and served for these past two years. It is the setting of many memories, both good and bad, which I have collected in the time of my service. It is where all my friends are located. This ship is precious to me, but is it home? My quarters are filled with mementos and various accoutrements to personalize the space. Jim's quarters are scattered with random gifts from diplomats. He conceals the objects that are most valuable to him and does not leave them out in the open. His bed brings to mind fond memories. All of this, but is it home?

After I left home, I never returned, thus I do not know what a homecoming is like. The one time I did step foot again on Vulcan was to rescue my parents while the planet was crumbling under our feet.

Jim has never had a stable sense of home. He was born in space. His mother and stepfather moved to Tarsus in hopes of starting a new life on the colony. Jim returned to Terra alone, and was placed in a series of foster homes before he legally emancipated himself and took up residence in Iowa. The _Enterprise_ is the closest object he associates with a home, but I am not certain he always considers the ship in that way. Perhaps for Jim, the infinite vastness of space is his home. We have not spoken on the matter, so I do not know his opinion on the subject.

My father said that melding with my mother after the bond was like coming home.

Jim desires to bond with me. And I have wanted a mental link with him for a long time.

I cannot help but wonder what the meld will be like for myself and Jim. Will it be as my father says, like coming home? What does that mean when the home of my childhood has been demolished and none of the places I live I consider to be home? The idea of being without a home has never disconcerted me until now, looking through a reconstruction of my childhood house on an alien colony by means of a holoimages, forced to think back. That time seems so far away, as though it were another life entirely. I have changed so much.

"Spock, I—woah. What's this?"

The unfamiliar sand, the house, all reconstructed in my quarters.

"This is my father's house on the colony."

"Shit, it's _huge_."

"The main house is complete, but the other buildings on the grounds of our estate have not yet been constructed."

Jim looked between the holoimages and me.

"I knew you were loaded, but I didn't know you were _this_ loaded."

"The name of our house has some prestige among Vulcans."

"No shit."

Jim continued to stare at the house.

"You were going to say something?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. How was your talk with your dad?"

"Enlightening."

"Yeah?" Jim flipped through the other images, eyes wandering over the shimmering holographic dunes.

Strangeness aside, it is a beautiful estate.

"It resolved some questions I had concerning my childhood."

Jim looked at me dubiously. "That sounds like a shitload of fun."

I raised an eyebrow.

"What? The man disowned you for going to Starfleet. I'm practically obligated to dislike him for you."

"Truly, Jim, I believe my father and I have resolved the large part of our differences. He admires you, and he gave his blessing, so to speak, to us. You need not harbor antipathy towards him for my sake."

"You're sure?"

"I am certain."

Jim gave me a long look, then nodded.

"Fine. If it's good enough for you, it's good enough for me."

I marvel at his ability to do that.

He turned his attention to an image of a room.

"Is this yours?"

"Why do you believe it is mine?"

"I don't know. It kind of looks like you, or something. Just a feeling."

This man.

"In our house on Vulcan, that was my room. However, I am not certain I consider that room to particularly belong to me in the new house. The location and architecture are the same—no other commonalities exist."

"No, there's some things that remind me of you. Can't really pinpoint it, but—" he looked at me. "He must've missed you."

Silence.

"He must've missed you a lot," he said, voice quiet.

I looked away.

Jim came up to me and folded his arms around me.

And in that brief moment, I could almost feel it.

Home.


	210. Ch 210

"Captain's log. We're responding to distress signals from an unknown planet. Commander Spock hasn't been able to account for this, since the last reports of the planet said there were no civilizations or technologically capable life forms. I'm sending him and Lt. Uhura down to investigate."

* * *

"Are you from the spaceship _Enterprise_?"

"Yes. Could you tell us what's happened? We received strong distress signals from this planet, but there seems to be nothing wrong," Nyota said.

"Wonderful, wonderful the party's begun  
let's open the wine and have a victory song.  
My name's Alexander and I am the fool,  
I am a good loser and obedient tool  
to the perverted Platonians worshipping forms,  
and don't mind my language. I'm far from the norm."

"I see," she looked at me.

The other members of the away team shifted on their feet.

"Abnormal, abnormal  
is my middle name  
so don't mind my language.  
I'm simply insane."

"Alexander, I am Commander Spock and this is Lt. Uhura. Who are the inhabitants of this planet?"

"Plato and Cato and playwright Aeschylus,  
Sophocles, Euripides and Ovid, Catallus.  
They call themselves the bastards of Plato  
but I think they look more like putrid tomatoes:  
acidic and rotting and red bodies clotting."

Alexander suddenly crumpled to the floor, clawing at his throat.

Lt. Pham immediately took out his tricorder and Nyota went to the dwarf's side.

"What's wrong? What's happening?" she demanded.

"Tyrants tyrannical they don't like my rhymes  
they say they must punish me from time to time."

"Lt. Pham, is there any way to stop this effect?"

"The tricorder is giving me readings of telekinetic effects, sir. The point of origin coming from down that corridor."

"It's fine, it's fine, don't worry for me,  
worry about what they'll do to you in their glee.  
You should never have come, you should leave now and run  
escape bastard Parmen the king and the one—"

"That's quite enough."

A needle and thread appeared. Alexander's mouth was neatly stitched close, his screams only ripping the holes wider as the thread was pulled by telekinesis. It was a gruesome sight.

Horror was evident on all the faces of the away team members. Ensign Rashbaum was wide eyed with her hand to her mouth. Lt. Pham was about to protest when Nyota elbowed him sharply. Clearly it was necessary to be cautious around this species.

"Welcome to our Republic. My name is Philana, this is our jester Alexander. Who among you is the physician?"

"First tell us why you sent a distress signal and how you came to this planet, then we can negotiate medical services, if that's what you need," Nyota replied, eyes hard.

Alexander was curled on the floor, shivering, pus oozing from the holes of the stitches.

I am not willing to risk any more personnel on this planet. It is preemptive to create a judgment of a species based on two individuals, but already I find myself evaluating my first impressions. We do not deal with societies that whimsically torture others.

I could see Nyota coming to the same conclusion. We need more information.

"Our records from the last survey show clearly that there were no inhabitants."

"We are the Platonians, and we took care that no one would hear of us. Our native star was Sahndara. Millenia ago, right before the star went nova, we managed to escape. We have modeled ourselves after the Republic of Plato, and all is harmonious here."

Alexander's mouth offered evidence to the contrary.

"The distress signal was necessary to issue because my husband, our Philosopher-King Parmen, injured his leg. His condition has deteriorated and we are in need of a physician. We bled him several times—"

Nyota stiffened.

"But he has not improved. Who among you is the physician?"

"How severe is his condition?" I asked.

"We only know of death through the ancient texts, but by their descriptions, it seems he is dying. A disgusting sight, mortality."

"Lt. Pham, go with Ensign von Otter and Ensign Shahzad to evaluate the condition of Parmen. Report back as soon as you have the results."

"If you'll follow me," Philana began walking.

"Before we go, could you unstitch his mouth?" Ensign Rashbaum was white as a sheet, but her voice was steady. "He wasn't doing anything harmful. Only some funny rhymes."

"Very well. Alexander, mind your tongue."

His mouth ripped open and Alexander screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

"Uhura to Sickbay."

"McCoy here. What's wrong? Everyone's frequencies are normal, as far as I can see."

"Send down a dermal regenerator. One of the natives here has severe wounds."

"All right. I'll send a kit down to the transporter room."

* * *

"The jester does as lady says and grows so weary of the fight.  
Their power to control my limbs, to stitch my lips, to stunt my height  
is old as centuries pass like days, the leaves and lays of looming night."

"Alexander, how long has this been going on? Can you tell us?"

We were seated in a guest room, waiting for Lt. Pham and the others to return.

"Stupidity, stupidity,  
eternal jester standing by.  
You'll learn their ways and power plays  
and love their cruel corrupted light.  
I've tried to die but I'm a slave,  
my body shrinks, it is my grave.  
The stupid jester, ugly fool  
who lives to serve with verve and drool.  
Go to Parmen and you'll see,  
the bastards of a Golden Age.  
The gold turned gilt, pretentious sage,  
lying dying on his couch.  
But we are equals in a way  
for now his body is his grave."

"So Parmen really is dying?"

"They thought in immortality,  
they wouldn't need the medical art.  
Fools more foolish than their jester—  
immortals shit and spit and fart."

"Are the Platonians truly immortal, or merely have extreme longevity?" I asked.

"I've never seen one die of age,  
I've seen them kill in fits of rage.  
Parmen's a psychotic hoax,  
but his body is the host  
of the most psychokinetic power,  
unstable as a falling tower."

"Then there was a point in time when the Platonians did not have this ability?"

"Mr. Spock, you're most observant.  
My riddling rhymes are not deterrents?"

"I find your habit of speaking in rhymes to be intriguing. Did you begin at the same time they gained their telekinetic power?"

"No. I can speak normal if I choose.  
But speaking normal, I find I lose  
the freedom of insanity.  
And it's a little vanity.  
They may be master of my voice,  
but in the words, I have a choice."

"Alex—can I call you Alex?" Lt. Kristof-Nutukwa asked.

"A name's a name and shortening it,  
doesn't change the fact I never wanted it."

"You never wanted it? You didn't get to name yourself?"

"It's a mockery.  
Their clever crockery.  
For Alexander was a Great,  
but here I have a different fate."

"Then what name do you want us to call you?" Nyota asked.

"My mother called me Odysseus,  
wily and promiscuous.  
He knew the tricks,  
he walked the treks,  
and used his brain while on the decks."

She laughed.

"Okay. Odysseus, then—it's a beautiful epic and wonderful choice for a name. How long has this torture been going on? Why do they treat you this way? Are there others they treat like you?"

"To understand the state of things  
one must go back in time to kings  
who thought themselves philosophers  
but were in fact Mephistophelers.  
I will not tell you as a rule,  
I'm but a jester and a fool.  
Go ask their historian—Thucydides the Dorian!"

Nyota frowned. She seemed to consider her words carefully. Then—

"Thucydides of _Athens_ fair  
wrote history of free men in war.  
The fight they fought, the speeches wrought,  
are still remembered and adored."

"The speeches wrought he wrought untrue  
like Plato's Republic deceiving you  
with visions of a paradise.  
In paradise there is no place  
for lice or mice or hate or face."

"Then enlighten us of history,  
the way before your star went dark,  
the horror seen, the tears of those  
who sank inside the drowning ark."

Silence.

"We want to know, we want to see,  
we'll listen to your twisting rhymes.  
You body and your history  
bear witness to their gruesome crimes.  
A jester slave, a jester mute,  
can reenact in pantomime,  
remembering the days before  
when things weren't gilded in the grime."

"Lady,  
what good would it do me  
recounting hurts and woes and aches?  
What can you do, what could you see  
to take away the pain and quaking of my memory.  
I will not tell, for all our sakes."

"Perhaps you've lived in fear so long  
you think there's no integrity  
in thinking beings—you are wrong.  
We want to help, so help us _see_."

Silence.

Odysseus looked at us, scrutinized us.

Nyota held his gaze.

"Those that remain are thirty-eight," he began.

A pause.

"There once were more than thirty eight, and it's ironic.  
These remaining cannot bear children.  
It seems in draining the genetics out  
and breeding perfect lazy louts  
they made a breed of impotent sprouts.  
And impotent in more than coupling—  
their ideas and arts and science are nothing.  
Nothing but derivatives of ages gone and deadness lived."

Another pause.

"It is logical that a culture such as this would lead to extreme stagnation," I nodded. "And it is likely that they were unable to preserve the civilization's history and accumulated knowledge in the haste to leave the planet."

"Wait—do I have this right? I'm not as good at navigating the riddles," Lt. Kristof-Nutukwa said. "There was a eugenics program on your planet that led to these Platonians."

Odysseus nodded.

"Philana said your star went nova," Ensign Rashbaum added. "Where the Platonians the only ones who managed to escape? They came here, and you've been living here ever since? Are you a product of that eugenics program too?"

"I am a product of that scheme  
but things went wrong in their utopian dream.  
There were others who were like me  
but they were purged, thrown to the sea."

"... I hope that's not literal."

"You'd be surprised by utopias.  
The ridiculous cornucopia  
of demons, monsters, slaughtered for beauty.  
'Give up your son for Forms and duty!'"

"Yet you survived," I said.

"I was named Odysseus  
because my mother loved the sea.  
She threw me to the saltiest part—  
I floated in tranquility."

"How'd you find yourself with these Platonians, then?" Kristof-Nutukwa asked.

"I was a child when the star blew up,  
a stowaway aboard their ship.  
She made me promise I would survive  
and remember her. And that was it.

"So many millenia passed  
and I have tried to thwart their rule.  
Millenia passed—I wonder often  
if I've always been the fool."

Silence.

"Odysseus, when did their telekinetic powers emerge?" I asked.

"Three millenia ago is when  
they discovered powers beyond their ken.  
Three millenia and a war  
that shrunk their numbers to four score.  
Another fight would break out later  
when Parmen came to be dictator.  
They whittled down to thirty-eight.  
I hope it turns to thirty-seven."

"The war must have been sudden and insane  
to have such power on the plane  
of battle. But you survived  
the gore and hoary violent score,  
their symphony of force and war.  
Odysseus, can you not offer observations or ideas?  
How was it you that came to suffer,  
serving their maladies through the years?"

"How did they _become_ telekinetic? I've never heard of a substance being able to induce that kind power," Rashbaum asked.

"If I knew,  
don't you think I'd do it too?  
And why do you want to know?  
So you can join their lovely show?"

"We would like to help you. The only way, it would seem, to make the terms between you and the other Platonians equal would be to find some means by which you could also be telekinetic."

"Psychokinetic.  
_Psycho_kinetic_._  
Power that's so absolute  
corrupts from leaf to shoot to root.

"Don't try to help me in that way.  
I don't want that kind of sway.  
I've got no doubt that if I could,  
I'd kill them all—it'd feel so good,  
to rip their mouths and hearts and hands,  
to sift their brains through colander strands.  
Don't tempt me, make me one of them.  
Leave me some dignity, gentlewomen.

"If you want to help, take me with you.  
I want to see that space  
untouched by slavery, a place of pure equality.  
I have forgotten, though I dream, that sweetest taste of liberty.  
Where I do not need to speak in rhyme,  
I do not live by rings and chimes  
demanding everything."

"We will bring you with us. I promise this," Nyota said, voice fierce.

"No. They'll throw a fit with screams and kicks.  
They'll bloody you and pierce your lips.  
They never planned on letting you  
leave and bring out their debut.  
They'll kill you first. Philana queen will do her worst."

Nyota straightened.

"You don't know who you're speaking to—we are the _Enterprise_ and her crew.  
We've seen such terrors, faced such strangeness that would make others die of fright.  
In facing that and walking forward we fear no evil, know no blight  
depriving us of victory, of confidence and surety. Our captain is a mystery  
born in darkness, standing in light. Our commander is our certainty  
whose mere presence can ignite the courage to continue onward, persevere and keep the fight.  
I understand these are but words, but let me tell you of a man—  
the man I love was taken over by an alien who had planned  
to kill me, our ship, and all our friends, but first drive them to black despair  
terror intended to distend and bring out madness everywhere.

"We survived.

"And I have nightmares every night of haze and fog and screams and pain  
and every night, I wake up shaking, crying, hurting, half insane  
my lover is a murderer who couldn't help the things he's done  
but still we walk and talk and listen to our silence and our song.

"So you don't know who you're speaking to—we are the _Enterprise_ and her crew.

"And there is _nothing _we can't do."


	211. Ch 211

"Lt. Pham, what is the diagnosis?"

"It's not his leg, sir, like they thought. The leg's broken and that's easily fixed, but my tricorder readings say that Parmen has some kind of mental disorder. It's been growing, making him delirious."

"Delirium, delirium,  
Ah! that fair empyrean!"

"Sir, with these psychokinetic powers he's got, I really think that the _Enterprise_ could be in danger."

"You believe their powers are able to reach that distance?"

"Not normally, sir, but the delirium is somehow increasing his abilities."

"Just what we need,  
Parmen's madness to light speed."

"Is there any way to remedy the mental deterioration?"

"Not that I know of, sir, but I'm not an expert. I put in an inquiry with Dr. McCoy, sent over the tricorder readings. He said he'd look it up and report to you as soon as he knew."

"Understood."

"I think it'd be helpful to take reading of the other Platonians. It might shed light on his illness and tell us how they developed their powers in the first place," Nyota suggested.

"Lt. Pham, Ensign von Otter, and Ensign Shahzad, gather data on the Platonians. Ensign Rashbaum and Lt. Kristof-Nutukwa, gather environmental data for this planet. The fact that they developed telekinesis here, rather than on their home planet, suggests that they evolved the ability due to some unique factor here."

"Understood."

"Be careful, all of you. If they ask questions, tell them it's for the physician," Nyota said.

"Not all thirty-eight are lovers of Parmen.  
If they hear that, they might try to harm them."

"Then do you have a suggestion, Odysseus?"

"Tell any who ask it's part of a ritual  
an ancient cult prayer—for your people habitual."

"Got that?"

They nodded.

"Keep communicators open, report anything that feels off. Follow the SOP for check-in, send the data to the _Enterprise_."

"Dismissed."

* * *

"Kirk to Spock."

"Spock here, captain."

"What the hell is going on down there? My ship's in the middle of a storm. Scotty says—"

"It's nothing like we've ever seen. No discernible cause with ten scale turbulence—"

"Scotty, did you put emergency gyros and stabilizers—"

"Everything's at maximum, Nyota. I've got nothing."

"We're not going to last much longer if this keeps up, Spock."

"Captain, I advise you warp out of orbit."

"We can't. We're locked in. Something's keeping us in place."

"There's nothing we can do, captain. Spock and I already sedated him, but he's still exerting incredible telekinetic pull on random objects—"

"McCoy here—lieutenant which hypo did you use?"

"The rivotril."

"Try two shots of terocordin. That ought to work better with their body chemistry, if this info y'all've been sending me up is right. Hell, I might as well beam down—"

Nyota immediately set about sedating Parmen.

"No."

"And why the hell not, Spock?"

"We have been informed that the Platonians are planning on executing us once we cure their king—"

"_What_?"

"No further personnel will be beamed down to the planet surface."

"Fucking forget beaming down, I'm beaming you guys _up_—Scotty get to the transporter room—"

"Already gone!"

"Jim, it is necessary to free the _Enterprise_ first of Parmen's telekinetic hold."

"Look, I know that hold's powerful but I'm pretty sure if we make a subspace bubble big enough, we can break it."

"Transporter room to bridge—"

"Don't tell me. I already know."

"I can't get a lock on them, sir. That shielding they've got is powerful. It'll have to be disabled first before we can do anything."

"This is why I never liked transporters, damnit!"

"Tell us something we didn't know, Bones. Can someone tell me why we're able to communicate through the shields but can't transport?"

Before anyone could answer—

"Don't tell me. I don't actually want a lecture."

"Captain, you should have control of the ship again. The sedative worked, as far as I can tell. Tricorder's showing reduced telekinetic activity."

"How are you guys down there?"

"It's a mess, but everyone's accounted for."

"Captain, I recommend that the _Enterprise_ warp out of orbit while you have the opportunity."

A pause.

"I'm not leaving you."

"Jim—"

"Get the shields down and when you're on the ship, then we'll talk about warping out. Got it?"

"Understood, captain."

* * *

"Thank you. You have healed my husband—how can I ever thank you?"

"Lower your shields so that the _Enterprise_ may beam us up. Our work here is complete."

"I'm sorry, but that's not possible," Parmen spoke. "You see, after my near fatality, it has become obvious to us all that we cannot afford to be without a skilled physician. Therefore we should like you to stay. My wife tells me you are all physicians."

"We may leave you with medical knowledge, but to remain is impossible."

"You sound very uncompromising, Commander Spock."

"That is because this is a matter on which there can be no compromise."

"You must stay," Philana smiled. "You'll want for nothing. Alexander can attend to all your needs, and we have a perfect society here. What more can you want?"

"Our only desire is to return to the _Enterprise_. You may keep your paradise."

"We _insist_ that you stay," Parmen spoke. "I am philosopher-king, and it would be negligence on my part as a ruler to let you go. Think of the well being of my people."

"As I stated before, we may leave you with medical knowledge, but our duties lie elsewhere."

And it was as though my body was being pushed and pulled by some external force. Unlike the Denevan Cellulites, which exerted control from within, I was fighting against a capricious grasp from without. I immediately applied the strictest mental discipline on myself, legs almost shaking with the effort to remain in place.

Nyota was less successful. She struggled, movements strained and twisted. I managed to grab hold of her but it was a disaster. In the process of trying to stay together while they pulled us apart, my control over my own body slipped and we fell to the ground. Nyota grit her teeth, clenched her hands into fists, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

On the ground, I could feel their telekinesis wisping over my limbs, trying to bend my limbs. Instead, I attempted to stand, fighting what felt like an atmospheric pressure of Venus—nine thousand kilopascals.

"Isn't it interesting how they do not speak? They only try to stand."

"A futile gesture. They'll learn soon enough, Parmen."

"Words do no good if you are deaf," Nyota replied, struggling from the ground.

The remainder of the away team were dragged in by telekinesis.

A plan.

A plan formed in my mind and I pretended to collapse under the weight of their telekinesis. Parmen and Philana laughed.

In falling, I came skin to skin with Nyota.

_Create a diversion_.

_How long do you need_?

_As long as is possible_.

She nodded.

I lay on the floor, gathering mental discipline, calculating every movement I would make.

"You call yourselves Platonians?" she taunted. "Odysseus was right. You're not Plato's children. You're Plato's _bastards_."

"Ah—they talk now," Parmen looked down at Nyota. "This place is a perfect order of peace and harmony. Nothing escapes the fair justice of my rule."

I shifted my body ever so slightly, slowly moving towards the others who were clustered together, fighting against the telekinesis.

"You've never even read the _Republic_. Justice? This is justice? This is Thrasymachus wearing Plato's mask."

"You don't understand my husband's power. Perfect justice can only come from the perfect republic, the balance of the tripartite soul reflected in society. We have thirty nine citizens, achieving the mystical balance of three and thirteen."

A little closer.

"Numerology is Pythagoras. And are you counting Odysseus?"

"Who's Odysseus?"

"The one you call Alexander."

"Of course we count him."

"As three-fifths of a body without a vote. That's how all slaves are counted."

"I grow tired of your moralizing."

I swung out my leg and Pham, von Otter, Shahzad, Rashbaum and Kristof-Nutukwa fell to the floor. The ensigns I immediately took out with a death grip, while to the two lieutenants I delivered a flood of information straight into their minds before I applied the death grip as well.

All of this done within a span of seven seconds before the Platonians exerted their powers on my body once more.

"_What did you do_?" Parmen roared.

The five bodies were still on the floor.

"You've killed them!"

"It's our tradition. The officers kill their subordinates rather than give up their property to others," Nyota answered. "You don't need seven physicians in any case."

"You needn't be quite so upset  
since you were already planning on killing five  
having the two forever in debt  
for choosing them and being alive.  
I suppose you're angry for losing sport  
things have been so boring at court."

"Alexander, if you say one more word—"

I rose to my feet again, struggling. And stared straight at them.

"Allow us, Philana, one last tradition,  
to bury our dead we ask your permission.  
Our funeral rites are specific and vaunted,  
if these dead are not cared for, your house will be haunted.  
They'll return here forever, searching for Parmen—  
ghost, shades, and shadows, seeking to harm him.  
Allow us this one last diversion  
and we will return in complete conversion  
to your justice and Platonian ways  
happily content to spend the rest of our days  
attending to you and the others as servants  
in our attentions we'll be most observant."

It is easier to lie while rhyming. Fascinating.

"Very well," Parmen released his hold on both myself and Nyota.

He is powerful, but he is a fool.

"Alexander, go with them. Help them however they need."

Philana's eyes narrowed. She evidently did not believe me to be sincere. Her authority, however, does not truly matter.

If everything was executed according to plan, then we would be able to disable the shields and beam back to the _Enterprise_.

"Let us go with them husband and see their funeral traditions. It must be diverting."

"What a splendid idea."

* * *

It is only coincidence that the only acceptable location that we might lay the dead out in open air to be eaten by the carrion-birds is two kilometers from the shield generators.

It is part of our tradition that I constantly make contact with the faces of the dead to communicate to them logistics and instructions for disabling shields.

Philana was not convinced.

Nyota made up some elaborate story concerning how natural and _logical_ it was that the Platonians chose to build their shield station near the place where the most mystical aura emanated. Apparently, this place is an ancient portal where the dead will cross over the river Styx and hand the ferryman a phaser and communicator as payment. All in absolute accordance with our most venerated traditions.

And of course, by the mystical power of Persephone, there will be no trace of the dead if we or the Platonians should ever return to this place. The bodies will be carried away by the carrion-birds, which are actually terrible daimons that will consume us alive if we even look on their bodies. Thus, for the safety of the Platonians, we must leave the site before the daimons arrive and the crewmembers wake up to carry out their duties.

Nyota improvised several laments and prayers to sing over the bodies, complete with a dance.

The Platonians were enthralled by her performance, as was I, for completely different reasons.

Jim could not have done better.

* * *

"You said you were the _Enterprise_  
with nothing that you couldn't face  
but all I see with my two eyes  
is bending and obeisance.  
You've been reduced to my low state  
and suddenly you can't desecrate  
Parmen and Philana's power  
you've shown your face to me this hour.  
The both of you are only fakes!  
I can't believe I put all faith  
in promises, such empty words  
slurred and blurred and so absurd."

"Odysseus—"

"No! You're just like them!  
Without your ship, the force on which you two rely,  
without your whip and heavy chains, you'd never think to try to fly.  
You power is not confidence, but emptiness and tawdry lies."

Nyota's eyes burned.

"Before you speak, before you judge,  
know what you say and what we've done.  
You think us cowards for our bowing  
when obeisance masks subversion.  
You speak in rhymes and know your riddles  
yet cannot riddle in pantomime,  
I thought a fool could see through twiddles  
but you're as dumb as you are blind.  
Dumb because you cannot speak—  
you say you choose to talk like this?  
The truth is that you cannot say  
anything without rhyming it.  
Blind because you can't discern  
Subtlety in our careful act  
we watch, we see, and we observe  
everything and keep our lips _intact_."

Silence.

The only sound the deep inhales and exhales of Nyota, anger still burning in her eyes. She stared at Odysseus until he turned away.

"Nyota," I put my hand on her shoulder. "Ndugu. That was unkind."

She curled into me and I wrapped my arms around her.

"I'm sorry."

I drew her in closer.

"I'm sorry."

She leaned into me and I supported her. Exhaustion, tension ran through her body.

I held her.

"Spock, I'm so tired. And I love Scotty but sometimes it's—he wakes up screaming and he sounds like—he sounds like—"

"Ndugu, I'm here. _Mla cha uchungu na tamu hakosi_."

Those who eat bitter things taste sweetness also.

She shook her head.

"_Chovya chovya humaliza buyu ya asali._"

Taste by taste empties the honey jar.

"_Kinyozi hajinyoi na akijinyoa hujikata._ You can always come to me."

"But Jim—"

"Is already recovering. And you are ndugu."

"This mission—"

"We will get through it. We always have."

"_Kutaataa siyo dawa ya kufa_."

"On the contrary, that is always how Jim has seen us through. I have had to reevaluate the merits of 'acting busy and concerned'. It is very effective."

She laughed.

Odysseus approached us.

"Perhaps it's true I spoke in haste, and for that I apologize.  
It's just that I wanted to see rage, defiance in your eyes.  
But you are right.  
I've spoken in riddles for so long, I can no longer recognize  
what is freedom, what is power, what is the truth and what's disguised."

Nyota stepped from my arms and knelt so that she was eye level with Odysseus.

"It's only right you want to see us standing boldly in the light.  
In this circumstance and reality we can't afford to play the knight.  
They have all advantages in force. So we must use some other sleight  
of hand and mind; we planned in morse code to take our final flight.  
I've learned from my captain and my friend that victory comes by many means  
what's most important is to stay alive and keep together as a team."

She held out her hand. He smiled and took it.

"I believe you. You're quite adept at speaking lines—the rhymes of songs unsung."

"Thank you. My captain's said I've a talent of tongue."

* * *

Nyota and I have been given the dubious honor of the office of court musicians. I am playing their kithara, accompanying Nyota's singing.

"Absurdity, absurdity, a life of mediocrity  
A traveling troupe to bring the show  
Into the lives of those who grow  
Bored and languish day by day,  
Thinking anguish mere child's play.  
I'll show you all your own condition,  
Speak riddles of my own volition.  
For madness is a catching game,  
And those who rhyme might be insane,  
But fools speak truths—this is a trope.  
Fools know no rules—and here's the soap  
To cleanse us of delight and folly,  
To rend us of the impure and jolly.  
So do you see? The monster of reality  
Will turn all truths to banality  
And you'll be left with monstrosity—your image in the light."

The slight whim of a transporter. Nyota and I felt the pull, but the transporter failed to get hold of us. We looked at each other under the pretense of giving musical cues.

She started once more, a vicious edge in her song, the tempo faster.

"And only fools can know the secret  
For we hug the darkness, dance with egrets  
That mask the masks that you are wearing  
To cover fearful void and fear of daring.  
They say that life is just a show  
You leave them laughing blow for blow  
Then let's proceed with this production  
The world a stage and us the function  
Of particles, atomic dope  
I'll leave you laughing without hope  
And if you think this dance macabre,  
Just wait and watch the gruesome barber  
Shave and soap and cut to clobber  
You to incoherent slobber  
Does this makes sense? But does it matter  
When I the fool restore your swagger  
To entertain you to the hilt  
To draw out pain inducing guilt  
The guilt of pleasure and of shame  
To see reflected in your name  
The truth of your grotesque existence—"

Another failed attempt of the transporter, but the pull was more powerful. Nyota caught Odysseus' eye and communicated to him to come closer to us.

"That you're the fool, and I'm consistent.  
Consistent in abnormalcy,  
Insistent in contradictory  
Pretentious without pretending true  
Licentious without offending you.  
So do you see? The monster of my reality  
Turns your life to banality  
And you're left with absurdity—the power of my words.  
For only I can know the secret  
In my monstrous world, you're the egret  
With feathers clipped to decorate  
The mask dipped in fornicate.  
I am the master of this realm  
I am the mystic at the helm—"

Transporter at full strength—

"And you are helpless, watch the show  
The traveling troupe—"

Nyota grabbed Alexander.

It's time to go."

* * *

There was something of a welcoming party that met us in the transporter room. Leonard immediately waved his tricorder over me, then Nyota, then Odysseus. She set Odysseus down on the transporter pad.

"Sulu, warp us out of here. Spock, what the hell are you wearing?" Jim demanded.

Scotty seemed extremely perplexed.

"Nyota darling? Have we adopted someone?"

She laughed.

"In a sense. Everyone, this is Odysseus."

Odysseus looked on at the ship and those gathered in the transporter room in wonder.

Jim immediately saw the expression on his face. There was a flash of recognition in Jim's eyes and—

"Lieutenant, stay there. Everyone else line up. Get in formation."

The crew did so without question.

"Attention!"

We stood in perfect military posture.

"Odysseus, I'm Captain Kirk. Welcome to the _Enterprise_."


	212. Ch 212

"Beam up, transporter room beam us up!" Ensign Thranduil screams.

"We're trying to a get a lock on your signal—"

"Beam up beam up _fucking_ holy shit—!"

"Oh god, _Enterprise_, please beam up—"

I am standing next to the command chair. Sulu, Christine, and Pavel are with the away teams.

The bridge immediately snaps to attention, officers take readings, Nyota is already notifying Sickbay, Engineer Kyle notifying that transporter room is ready and standing by. They are all waiting for my orders.

* * *

"This is a scientific mission of some import, unique in its objectives."

"If by unique, you mean disastrous, then yeah Spock, I can agree with you there," Leonard grumbled.

"Lt. Chekov, a summary."

"_Horosho_. This is a science mission, but all departments are being inwolwed, technically. It is a bit of everything except diplomacy—you can relax, Hikaru. If it turns into a diplomatic mission, that is a wery bad. Scientists haf been doing scans of every possible kind to make sure there are no proto civilizations deweloping on the planet."

"The last time they did that, I ended up violating the Prime Directive," Nyota said, voice wry.

"This time, we should be good."

"Hopefully Kirk-force won't interfere with anything," Sulu laughed.

"Ah, but that's not the nature of Kirk-force, is it, lad?"

"I will ask that you refrain from commenting until the end of the lieutenant's presentation."

"Thank you, sir. The planet we are going to, Ialla'akhlla, is a biological reserve. Scientists have been tracking its dewelopment for almost a century using a series of robot probes and satellites. They haf been tracing the planet's ewolutionary path—we were actually able to witness the dewelopment of multicellular organisms. Eweryone in the Science Department is thrilled that we are receiwing this mission. The study of this planet has been rewolutionary to our understanding of many things in biology.

"They recently decided, and it was a wery controwersial decision, to open the planet up to humanoid scientific exploration. We are going to be the first group of people who will be able to take samples, tricorder readings, et cetera. There are many interesting questions that can be answered and many unknown things to explore down there."

Sulu bounced on the balls of his feet.

"This is going to be awesome."

"Your enthusiasm for this mission has been evident since we received the transmission from the Admiral."

"You know this is a once in a lifetime kind of opportunity for a scientist, Commander."

"It's a once in a lifetime pain in the ass. Have you _seen_ the decontam rulebook they want me to go by? We're working round the clock here to set everything up."

"Those protocols are necessary, doctor. It is imperative that no extraterrestrial materials be introduced into the environment of the planet."

"That's goddamn impossible and you know that as well as I do. You're going into a biological garden of Eden and there's no way our presence isn't going to change the system. Just by being there, you change the whole thing."

"I am aware of this. However, the decision of the board stands. I am not willing to repeat the debate they carried out."

"It's a damn fool decision."

"We have orders."

"Scotty, how are the probes coming along?" Nyota asked.

"Slowly. Like we've been saying, decontamination procedures are long and arduous, more than usual. The designs are fine, we've had a few hiccups along the way. But the lads and ladies should be done in time for the deadline. I'm almost done cleaning up the transporters to make sure they don't accidentally beam down alien matter."

"What of shuttle modifications?"

"Best ask Sulu about that. He's taken over coordinating the efforts for that one."

I turned my attention to Sulu.

"We've prepped three of the four shuttles that'll be used. Everything's been cleaned as per Starfleet's orders—I made sure of that personally. The two larger shuttles are being outfitted with a small lab and storage spaces so that the scientists can immediately preserve and process their samples without having to beam aboard, decontaminate, unload, decontaminate, beam back, and so forth. That's just inefficient. The smaller two science shuttles'll be piloted and used for close range observation."

"I thought the whole planet was open," Nyota frowned.

"Certain areas of the planet have been opened and the teams will be collecting samples from those sites. Most of the planet, however, remains closed. Remote aerial observation is permitted. Lieutenant, have you resolved the difficulties you were having with communications?"

"No," Nyota shook her head. "We're just going to have to monitor the weather really closely and hope that the sun of this system doesn't flare."

"I find that solution unsatisfactory."

"But we're making sure that the ships will be outfitted with everything they need," Sulu replied.

"And we've actually put a signal booster on one of the ships to aid communication between individuals and the _Enterprise_. It should help prevent any disasters from happening."

"No matter how much we plan, something always goes wrong," Leonard said.

"Doctor, your comments are counterproductive to our discussion. Perhaps you should join Nurse Chapel in Sickbay. She is sterilizing suits for the scientists, is she not?"

"I got your point."

"Lt. Chekov, is there anything else you would like to report?"

"I modified a wery little bit the weather tracking programs so that we can be warned early, if a storm hits. But all papers discussing Ialla'akhlla's weather can only give general models, not specifics. As Lt. Uhura said, the only choice we are hafing is to monitor the situation closely."

"Lt. Sulu, have you made your decision regarding your role in the away teams? Are you piloting a shuttle or going as a scientist?"

"There are way more qualified scientists who're fighting to get a spot on the away teams, sir. I'm piloting."

"Understood. We arrive at Ialla'akhlla in 109 hours. Will everything be in place by that time?"

"Aye. It'll all get done."

I nodded.

"Dismissed."

* * *

They are all waiting for my orders.

"Mr. Scott, tractor beam."

"Already doing it, sir, but that storm—it's like nothing I've seen before—"

"Lt. Giotto, prep a rescue shuttle to be launched on my command."

"Aye, sir."

"Lt. Enbogatu to Spock I could go in and—"

"Lieutenant, proceed with your current orders."

"But Commander—"

"Your vessel is not capable of taking all those on board. The risk of failure is too high. Follow your orders and return to the ship. Spock to transporter room."

"We've got four of the eighteen shuttle passengers—"

The frequency monitors of those in the shuttle remain steady. Sulu's heart rate is elevated, but that is to be expected.

"Spock goddamn you I thought you said you were monitoring everything!"

"And the other twelve?"

"Engineer Kyle is struggling sir—"

"Spock, I've got the tractor beam holding the ship steady, but if it starts disintegrating that's anyone's guess—"

"If the ship begins disintegrating, they are dead, Mr. Scott."

"I don't give it good odds, Spock."

"Engineer Kyle's managed to retrieve three more passengers, leaving eleven on board."

"Move _move_ I am taking the transporter. Chekov to Spock, I am safe, I am beaming them up. Sulu is breaking his arm, Christine is okay. Others are okay, when I saw them."

"Spock when we're done with this mission I'm gonna kill y'all dead—"

"Lt. Giotto, launch the shuttle rescue squad."

"Aye, sir."

"Lt. Condor to Spock. Permission to join the rescue team, sir."

"Granted."

"Lt. Chekov's beamed two more passengers, nine on board."

"Commander Spock, the other two shuttles are waiting for orders, sir."

"Dr. Torgyuen, what is the probability that this storm will remain limited to this region?"

"High, sir. This kind of blitz storm will ride itself out as it works its way up the continent. The only chance that it'll spread is if it hits a pocket of methane, which, by current readings, there are none in its trajectory."

"Lt. Uhura, inform the other shuttles to continue their investigations, but to be alert for any unusual developments."

"Understood."

"We've got two more passengers, seven on board."

Then, the readouts of Sulu's shuttle began failing.

"Sir, we're losing the shuttle—"

"—critical structural damage—"

"Ozone levels skyrocketing—"

"Mr. Scott, the tractor beams—"

"They're not going to catch all the pieces, Spock, I'm doing the best I can—"

Sulu's frequency monitor flatlines.

"Lt. Condor, the _Cairo_ is severely damaged and possibly in the middle of disintegration—"

"I can see it, Commander," he replies, voice calm, focused. "We're going in."

"Lt. Chekov's got two more passengers, five on board. The debris and motion is making it nearly impossible to get a clear lock—"

The bridge remains active. Personnel look at the frequency monitors and steel themselves.

"Mr. Scott, report to the transporter room and assist. Lt. Chekov. You have done all you can there."

"Aye, sir."

"Dr. Vtorgyuen, status of the storm."

"Unchanged."

"Condor to Spock, I need you to forward the readouts for shuttle conditions. The teams're almost ready to go in."

"Done. Lt. Uhura."

"Sending the information."

"Spock? Scott here, I've managed to get Chris. There's still four on board."

"Lt. Condor and the security squad are in the middle of rescue efforts."

"Do you want us to keep trying? We might accidentally beam one of the rescuers if we're not careful"

"Spock to Lt. Condor."

"Condor here."

"The transporter room is standing by. Do you wish that they continue their attempts?"

"Negative, sir. We've got it from here. We'll report to you as soon as we get everyone out. Condor out."

"Mr. Scott, discontinue your efforts. Stand by, be prepared to beam up any on the order of the rescue squad."

"Got it. Scott out."

Sulu's frequency monitor remains dark.


	213. Ch 213

"He broke his spine. Sulu went and got himself an incomplete spinal cord injury. I've reset it, stitched together the lesion, but he's going to be in heavy PT for a while. That aint gonna make him happy."

Sulu lies on the biobed, still heavily sedated. If he is to heal, he may not move for a period of at least 200 hours. Pavel looks on, his expression carefully blank. Jim stood next to me, his fingers threaded through mine.

"Back snapped in right at the C7, with most of the damage to the anterior cord. Sulu's one lucky bastard we've got a procedure to reset that. He won't be able to move his legs for at least two weeks—minimum—and I'm not too sure about motor control in his hands. I'll have to do a few follow up procedures. If everything goes well, it'll all come back. Goes without saying he's off duty."

"How many follow up procedures are you doing, doctor?"

"As many as he needs."

"That is not wery specific."

"We've got to see how this one goes first. I can't give you any definite answers."

"Bridge to Commander Spock, come in please."

"Nyota."

"Sorry, Spock, but Number One needs to talk to you."

"It can't wait?" Jim asked.

We already knew the answer to that question.

"No."

"I will take the transmission in my quarters. Leonard, Pavel, Jim," I nodded.

Jim squeezed my hand and did not let go.

"Let me come with you. I think I know what this one's going to be about."

Leonard said nothing, only turned his attention back to Sulu. Jim is almost fully healed from his injuries. His abdominal muscles are still weak and there is still nerve damage, but he will be cleared for duty soon. We left Sickbay and walked back to my quarters.

"Captain Kirk, Commander Spock."

"Admiral."

"I have just received your report concerning the mission on Ialla'akhlla. Have you identified all the sites where the parts of the shuttle landed?"

"We have, to the best of our ability. It is inevitable that the particulate debris could not be tracked. The data is being compiled into a report as we speak. It will be ready for you within the hour."

"How severe do you estimate the damage to be?"

"The storm scattered debris over a 468 kilometer radius. Most of the debris has been located in unopened sites."

"And the chemical materials?"

"Some shuttle engine parts are still leaking. Otherwise, the environment has been totally contaminated."

"Your report clearly indicates that this could have been prevented."

"Admiral, the situation wasn't exactly ideal. We're lucky that we got all our personnel out of there alive."

"The warning signs were all present that this storm would hit the area, yet Lt. Sulu disregarded the warnings and stayed an extra 46.2 minutes, thereby placing himself and all the shuttle crew in danger and leading to this untenable situation."

"While it is true that the warning signs were present, they were not conclusive. We could not predict the strength of the storm—"

"Storms of magnitude 14 on the Hobarth scale are common on this planet, or did you fail to read the preliminary reports I sent?"

"Spock read all the reports, Admiral. Hindsight is twenty-twenty."

"Your subordinate, Commander, showed an irresponsible lapse in judgment when he chose to not to evacuate immediately."

"I respectfully disagree. Lt. Sulu did not remain in the area on a whim. They had lost communication with two of the scientists and he would not leave until they had been found."

"I am aware of the circumstances surrounding the lieutenant's decision, Commander. There is no need to repeat them to me."

"Then I don't see what the problem is. You have to take into account the fact that—"

"The correct command decision, Captain Kirk, was that Lt. Sulu should have removed his ship and left the scientists on the planet. An unfortunate loss, but it would have minimized the extent of the contamination of the planet."

"You've got to be shitting me."

"Once again, I respectfully disagree. Introducing new biological matter to the planet would be just as dangerous, if not more so, than the loss of the shuttle, which had been thoroughly decontaminated—"

"Negative. With the disintegration of the shuttle, the storm widened the radius of contamination. The two scientists were within the confines of the exploratory area. After the storm had passed, it would have been possible to send down a team and remove the bodies of the scientists."

"You can't seriously be saying—"

"I am. It is an unenviable choice, but the better one. Now the biochemical evolution of the planet has been irrevocably altered and tainted with alien matter due to the destruction of the shuttle, and a decision will have to be made whether to remove the objects or allow them to remain."

Silence.

"If I may ask, Admiral, when you speak of the correct and incorrect choice, are you speaking from a command perspective or is this the choice you would have personally made?"

Number One's eyes narrowed.

"My personal choice is irrelevant. It is the argument board of scientists will make. They will be understandably outraged. This should have been a standard mission, and the decision to open the planet to study was already extremely controversial."

"We are aware of the debate surrounding this."

"We don't have to justify anything to them. If they prefer to kill people to preserve biological samples, we've got nothing to justify."

"That is not an option. Lt. Sulu will be questioned."

"Lt. Sulu sustained a severe injury. He suffered a spinal cord injury at the C7 vertebra and will be recovering from that for the duration of these hearings. As acting captain of the _Enterprise_, I will speak on his behalf and accept all responsibility."

"He is paralyzed?" Number One stiffened.

Admiral Christopher Pike.

"Temporarily. Dr. McCoy was able to perform surgery that should allow the lieutenant to make a full recovery. However, the doctor has made clear that Lt. Sulu will go through intense physical therapy if he is to regain total mobility."

Number One's expression seemed to soften momentarily.

"Starbase Four has excellent recovery facilities."

"No. I know this isn't the SOP, but I'm not sending Sulu off this ship."

"It will take several months for him to recover. He may rejoin the _Enterprise_ when he is fully healed."

"He's my best pilot and he doesn't need to be standing to do that."

"C7 injuries include loss of mobility and sensation in one's hands and fingers. The lieutenant most certainly requires those appendages at the helm."

"Bones is the best doctor I know, he runs an efficient Sickbay, and I think Sulu will get better faster if he stays with us."

"You cannot make this exception for Lt. Sulu simply because of your emotional attachment to him. Starships are not designed to accommodate those who are differently abled."

"We'll change that. I've got a genius engineer who can do anything, and I'm sure we can change things around, make adjustments."

"Your intentions are admirable, captain, however Starfleet is a military institution. Those on board a starship must carry out certain duties and when they are unable or unfit to fulfill those requirements, they must leave and recover or find another occupation."

"Look, I know that they forced Pike off his ship because he happened to be in a wheelchair. I think that was stupid. We've got enough technology now to make these things, even starships, handicap accessible."

"The decisions made by the Admiralty are understandable and reasonable considering—"

"Admiral," Jim said, eyes intense. "Look me in the eye and tell me that you and Pike would rather be at HQ, doing what you do, than out in space again."

Number One was silent.

"You look me in the eye and tell me that Pike wouldn't jump at the chance to captain a ship again. That you don't want to be at his side again, exploring this galaxy."

"My personal choice is irrelevant—"

Jim shook his head, then looked directly at Number One again.

"You've got a point. I can see where you're coming from—leading a Constitution Class vessel like the _Enterprise_ might be too much. But there are plenty of other ships out there, smaller ships with lighter crews for science missions, diplomatic envoys, that kind of thing."

"Perhaps, while Starfleet is restructuring its bureaucracy and reconsidering its priorities, this issue might be deliberated as well," I added. "With the assistance of technology and the implementation of some unorthodox solutions, Starfleet might be opened to a section of the population whose skills and viewpoints are wholly different from our usual standard."

"Yeah. Isn't that what we're supposed to be about? Difference as diversity, not difference as some kind of binary between can and can't?"

"You are quite determined to keep Lt. Sulu on your ship."

"Sometimes it takes a person you care about to fight for a cause."

Number One raised an eyebrow.

"Christopher has told me he often wonders what kind of monster he has unleashed on the galaxy, giving the two of you command of the _Enterprise_. I had not understood those words until now."

Jim laughed.

"If you ask any of my crew, they'll say it's the Kirk-force."

"I may be inclined to believe them," she quirked her lips. "Very well, captain, Lt. Sulu may remain on board. Commander, I suggest that you and Dr. McCoy refrain from making a full report of the lieutenant's injuries. I will take this discussion under consideration."

"Thank you, Admiral."

"Thanks are unnecessary. If Christopher and I are able to realize that possibility, I can guarantee you that I will no longer be your commanding officer."

"I look forward to that day, Admiral."


	214. Ch 214

"Lt. Chekov, a moment."

"I am going to Sickbay—doctor is testing to see how the surgery went. Can it wait?"

"I will accompany you to Sickbay, and we may discuss the matter afterwards."

"_Horosho_."

Pavel practically ran to Sickbay.

"Hey guys," Sulu grinned. "You managed to drag Spock with you, Pasha?"

"Hikaru, you are an idiot."

"I will leave—"

"No, Spock, I don't mind if you stay," Sulu said as Christine adjusted the biobed and his position.

"How is that? Do you feel discomfort anywhere?"

"Nope, it's fine."

"If you do, tell us immediately."

"All right. I know the drill, Chris."

"And if you need anything, don't hesitate. Dr. McCoy will be with you in a moment."

"I'm right here. Did you set up the tricorders for this, Chris?"

"You make it sound like I don't know how to do my own job, Leonard."

He laughed as Christine walked away.

"All right Sulu, let's take this slow. Move your thumbs, flex them around—okay, good. Does everything feel connected?"

Pavel was watching the proceedings intently, looking between Sulu, Leonard and the tricorder readings. By the look on his face, he will be reading articles on tricorder technology to teach himself how to decipher the data.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can move my thumbs."

"Touch your index fingers to your thumbs."

Sulu's index fingers twitched, but did not touch his thumbs. His brows furrowed and he tried to contort his hands to make them come together.

"It's all right. It'll come back in time. Okay, try the same thing with your middle fingers."

The same happened.

"Ring fingers."

His ring fingers had slightly more range than the others. They still did not reach his thumbs.

"Pinkys."

Sulu's face was one of intense concentration.

"All right. Okay. Now try and flex your wrists like this, back and forth, sided to side."

He was able to do so with little difficulty.

"Now your elbows, can you bring your forearm up—yeah, like that. Looks good, Sulu. Okay, try moving your shoulders, up and down, no arms yet. How's that feel?"

"Pretty good. It's weird, I feel like I'm not getting any support from my chest."

"Tell me if you feel out of breath any time. We don't want to push it."

"Doc—"

"Listen to me, Hikaru, I'm only gonna say it once. You don't want to push your limits on this, not right now. Later, when you're in later stages of PT, go for it. Right now, I'm not going to risk that lesion of yours becoming permanent, all right? That was a damn tricky job and we still need to do a couple more operations on you."

"I got it," he nodded.

"Listen to the doctor," Pavel said.

"You're turning into a Russian _babushka_."

"You should listen to my _babushka_ too—she is the one who is inwenting Scotch."

"Try extending your arms out. Up and down."

Sulu was focused again, concentrating on the motions of his muscles.

"Move them in circles. Counterclockwise. Above your head, and back down again."

Control of his upper body was compromised. Sulu's arms jerked about clumsily.

"That's great—you've got more range that I expected, this close after surgery."

"If you say so."

"Yup, we've got a silver lining here. Now, put your arms down. I'm going to move you forward."

Leonard made sure to keep Sulu's spine aligned as he moved him forward, supporting his upper body evenly. Sulu grunted, trying to adjust his position on his own. His contorting efforts made it more difficult to move him.

"Sulu, just—"

"Stay still?" he asked, an edge in his voice.

The reality of his situation, the severe limitation in movement was making itself apparent to him with each passing minute.

"It is being temporary," Pavel said.

"It doesn't really feel that way right now."

"All right, ready? Try flexing your toes."

Nothing.

"Try moving your foot, controlling through your ankle."

Nothing.

"Can you feel anything in your knees?"

There was a very slight twitch.

Leonard grinned.

"_Shto_? Why are you smiling? Is that meaning something good?"

"It's a very good sign. The surgery's working. Your signal pathways are reconnecting together and they're still plugged into your brain."

"I can feel my ankles too, I just can't move them."

"Better and better."

"Why?" Sulu asked.

"If the surgery wasn't working, you wouldn't be able to move your legs at all. That twitch right there?"

Sulu's calves jerked again.

"That's a thing of beauty," Leonard smiled. "We're gonna be okay. More than okay. We'll have you out of here in no time."

* * *

Pavel put his tray down on the table. He sat, pushed the meal to the side and groaned, burying his head in his arms.

"Lad, what's gotten into you?"

"Sulu is going crazy."

"He always was a little off kilter, you know. Everyone has to be, if they want to work with Jim."

"Hey."

"Well, it's true, captain. Don't bother denying it."

"Did you know that they are hafing to find a bladder management program because he cannot control when he is urinating?"

"Pavel, we're trying to eat here," Nyota gave him a look.

This did not prevent him from continuing.

"Christine was telling him that they haf to do trial and error, with things that I am never hearing of before," Pavel began digging into his meal. "Self catheterization and crede method, walsalwa to trigger these things called detrusor muscles. Did you know there are many types of catheters?"

Nyota put her hand to her forehead. Scotty looked absolutely fascinated.

"You know, I took a few courses in biomedical engineering myself and the things bodies can do are amazing."

"Yes, and the millions of ways they break down are unbelievable."

"Christine! The lady of the hour! Have a seat," Scotty patted the spot next to him.

"How are things, Chris?" Jim asked.

"Complicated."

"Why? I am not understanding. I thought you had formulas for all these problems."

"Lad, this isn't exactly theoretical physics."

"No, there is a certain formulaic aspect to medicine. Jim has an allergic reaction," everyone at the table laughed, "Leonard gives him the appropriate hypos, the situation's contained. But other aspects of medicine don't work like that, spinal cord injuries included."

"It is logical that this should be true," I reflected. "Treatment and recovery is often highly dependent on the patient, the circumstance of the injury, the type, the level of care received immediately afterwards and the care available in the long term. As I understand, spinal cord injuries effect several parts of the body simultaneously."

Christine nodded.

"Exactly. And Sulu's on so many different medications right now to accelerate his healing, all of them with side effects, that it's hard to balance everything on top of that and find the solution that's right for him."

"When is he starting PT?" Nyota asked.

"Soon. I'll be working with him on a set of motion exercises that will increase his range and flexibility, and it'll also help prevent his muscle tone from degrading."

"When do you think he'll be walking again?"

"Not for a long time. Leonard's first estimates were extremely optimistic. It'll depend on how his body heals."

"So the surgeries didn't work?"

"They worked, captain. The procedure's been performed before and studies have shown it to give consistent results, but the rate of recovery varies wildly with each person. Still, we've got some reasons to think that he'll be on the faster track."

"I've got a question—it might be a wee bit indelicate, though."

"Go ahead."

"Pavel was just talking about urinating and the control issues there. I was just wondering—"

"Scotty, I'm trying to _eat_ here," Nyota swatted at his arm.

"Well it's a valid thing to wonder about. Does he have the same problem with, you know."

"Bowel movements? Or erections?"

Jim coughed into his drink. Scotty reddened and Pavel leaned in to listen.

"Well, ah, I meant more along the lines of the former."

"There's no need to be embarrassed. This is actually an important point that I meant to talk to you about anyway."

"Why's that?" Jim coughed to clear his throat.

"Because, paraplegics can't control their bowel movements like they used to. They lose sensation and they can't tell when their rectum is full, so there are going to be involuntary bowel movements."

"You mean they shit their pants?"

"It is a logical consequence of the injury, captain."

"I'd be careful about the wording if I were you, Jim. The loss of control over a bodily function that's so basic has psychological implications too. It reinforces the reality of their injury, and it can have an immensely negative impact on things like self esteem, their willingness to socialize, their ability to process everything that's happened."

"But we cannot be acting like nothing has happened, if it happens," Pavel frowned.

"Don't ignore it, but don't make it a big deal. Give him space and privacy. He might feel embarrassed—let him feel whatever emotions he needs in order to deal with this."

"Aye, that we can do."

"Is he going to be hafing this problem regularly? Is he wearing diapers?"

"No, it simply means we'll have to find a strategy to manage the reflexive bowel movements, one that he's comfortable with and can handle. It'll take time for him get used to it. But it's definitely important, since improper care can result in so many complications."

"Complications? What are they?" Pavel demanded. "I haf not read about this yet."

"You've been doing readings?" Scotty smiled.

"Of course I am doing readings. He is my friend."

"Well, for starters there's constipation. Hemorrhoids, impaction, rectal bleeding."

Jim winced.

"If we use a catheter to manage his urination, he'll be at a high risk for a urinary tract infection. And of course, there's autonomic dysreflexia."

"This really sounds like such a lovely walk in the park," Scotty said, taking Nyota's hand.

"It's not pretty. Leonard's and my priority is to find a way so that all aspects of his recovery are acceptable to him. We've told him over and over that if he feels any pain or discomfort, he should tell us or anyone around _immediately_," Christine's grey eyes were suddenly sharp. "Do you understand? If Sulu says something, report it to Sickbay immediately, because the tiniest little things can blow up into a something fatal."

"We'll do anything we can, Chris," Jim nodded.

"I could write a general memo and circulate it to the crew to make sure they get all the important points," Nyota offered.

"Could you? Maybe not to everyone, but to the people's he's with on a regular basis."

"Of course."

"Thanks so much. Pavel, if you'd like more literature on this, I can give you a few good databases and medical journals to start."

"I would be appreciating that wery much."

Christine smiled, obviously restraining herself from ruffling Pavel's hair. Despite the fact that he is not seventeen anymore, there are moments when he is not entirely his age either. Then again, there are moments when Jim acts far beyond his age, and others when he is extremely immature.

"Nyota, you can handle getting shot with an arrow and firefighting with Gorn, but you lose your appetite over talking about shitting?"

"We've all got our quirks, Jim—you've got your own fair share. Let me have mine."

Jim grinned.

"Fine by me."

* * *

"Scotty, I am not thinking that Hikaru needs a howerchair that can go two-hundred kilometers per hour."

"What're you talking about, lad? That's the best part! It'll be great."

"Scotty, you are aware that the purpose of this chair is to assist Sulu temporarily, rather than give him more opportunities to injure himself?"

"Don't look at it that way, Spock. Think of the possibilities!"

"I am. Drag racing in a hoverchair is not one of the acceptable possibilities."

"No creativity at all. You're limiting genius, Spock."

"You can be making another howerchair that breaks the sound barrier, but it is not for Sulu."

"That's an idea!"

"I do not understand why we do not simply order a hoverchair, perhaps of customized manufacture. I am willing to pay for the expense."

"And give up this golden opportunity to engineer something of beauty that no one's thought of before? Spock, you'll never make a proper engineer."

"I have no desire to be so."

"No, I am reading about this. A custom made chair will give Sulu support uniquely for his body. Since he will always be sitting, comfort is important."

"My argument stands. We may order one from the nets, requesting the necessary dimensions."

"One of the Sickbay chairs has a busted hoverjet that I never got around to fixing. Now's the perfect opportunity! The response system could be improved, honed for finer maneuvers."

"The improwement to the systems should not include an option to go two-hundred kilometers per hour."

"Think of it, Chekov. If he's attacked on a diplomatic mission, he can just jet out of danger by zooming away!" Scotty made a strange puttering sound, as if to imitate the whir of the hoverjets.

"That idea is predicated on the misconception that we carry out diplomatic talks in an open space where Sulu would not, for example, run into objects such as a door or walls."

"You know what I mean."

"_Nyet_, I do not. Scotty, by your idea, we should be adding mini photon torpedoes to Sulu's howerchair."

"Better and better!"

Pavel shook his head.

"As Sulu is saying, 'that would be badass.' But I agree with the Commander. It is not adwisable."

"Just you watch. He'll see this chair for all the potential in it."

* * *

"Woah. That'd be awesome."

Sulu was looking over Scotty's proposed design.

I raised an eyebrow at Scotty, who merely grinned. Chekov shook his head in exasperation.

"Wrong answer, Hikaru."

"Are those—?"

"Yup. It'll compensate for any sharp turns you make. These here are the brakes I redesigned—"

"Tricked out!" Sulu smiled.

"And the best part of it is, you've got two options to operate the chair. One's manual, using these controls on either armrest, or automatic. Just think—or rather, lean forward slightly—and it'll go forward."

"Scotty, you are not supposed to be encouraging him. I read it in psychology books—you are an _enabler_. You are enabling him to kill himself."

Sulu ignored Pavel's comment.

"How do you control the velocity?"

"It'd take a few tries to get the velocity control down, but gyroscopes here detect the subtle changes in your body's balance. Are you at that stage yet?"

"Almost. I've got better control of my torso than I used to, full use of my arms, though fingers are still," Sulu tried to move his index finger and it twisted oddly, "up in the air."

"I am leading that team of engineers—"

"You're converting to engineering for me?"

"Do not be an idiot, Hikaru. The problem is wery theoretical."

Sulu rolled his eyes but smiled.

"We are looking how to improf the programming to maintain balance. But when it is done, it should be giwing you a smooth ride and full mobility."

"Awesome."

"Want to see the crash dummies when we test the prototype?" Scotty asked, a little too enthusiastic about the prospect for both my and Chekov's tastes.

"Yeah—that'd be great. But are you serious about the maximum velocity? How do I control that?"

"Practice."

Sulu gave Scotty a dubious look.

"We're planning on programming it so that there're modes, ranges of velocity so you don't go crashing in the ship corridors. But if there's a situation that you need to go that fast, you switch it and hit the gas."

"That is pretty sweet."

Scotty beamed.

"Commander, what're the chances that I could drag race in this and not kill myself?"

"One out of 7472.6"

"That's not too bad."

"Commander, you are an _enabler_ too."

* * *

"Um, Scotty? The dummies aren't supposed to—"

"We'll fix it Sulu, no worries."

"What went wrong?"

"Ewerything."

"Not _everything_ lad. My brake system might have some errors here and there."

"We will haf to reconsider the design philosophy," Pavel said, furiously scribbling into a datapad.

"No, I don't think it's the design, but integrating it all together. I'll have to take a solid look."

"Well, it was a spectacular crash."

"Aye, that's half the fun of prototype trials."

* * *

"Do you know what's a little annoying about these manual chairs?"

Sulu was moving from his wheelchair to the biobed, attempting to do it without assistance. Christine and Pavel report that his upper body strength has been increasing daily. That, along with regular physical therapy and the fact that he had a rigorous weight-training regimen prior to his injury, has allowed him to make remarkable progress.

"The height difference. My neck gets tired craning up to look at people."

"I had not considered that problem," I sat down and opened the _Iliad_ to the place we had left off.

He positioned himself in the biobed, moving his legs into a comfortable formation by pushing them with the backs of his hands. Sulu grimaced as one of his legs spasmed briefly.

"Shoot," he breathed. "Those are painful."

He sank down into the bed, willing himself to relax.

"Shall I get Dr. McCoy?"

"He said they're normal. We're working on it."

"Do they happen frequently?"

"Now that I'm getting sensation back, there's a lot of twinges and throbs. Sometimes it gets bad. Doc's monitoring it, trying to figure out if it's a chronic condition or something that will go away on its own."

"If you are certain."

"If it happens again, I'll get Chris," he paused. "It just occurred to me—"

Another pause.

"Yes?"

"We don't usually go through the trouble of keeping a paraplegic on board, even if the injury's technically temporary. I'm getting special treatment."

"Does this disconcert you?"

"It seems unfair. I've known a lot of redshirts who've been in the same position as me, but they were dropped off at the nearest Fleet hospital. I'm only getting this kind of treatment because I'm friends with the captain."

Sulu shrugged, brows creased.

"Don't you think so? That it's unfair."

"I agree with your assessment of the situation. However, I do not see how that may be remedied. You are invaluable to the captain as a pilot and we have taken the time to train you to bear more command responsibilities. Jim believes that losing you to a base hospital would adversely affect ship operations."

"Some people are more equal than others? Orwell, from his book _Animal Farm_."

I nodded.

"Power, and connections to power, has its privileges."

"No kidding." Sulu grit his teeth as his leg spasmed once more.

"I will find Dr. McCoy."


	215. Ch 215

Jim, along with several members of the Security Department, organized a game of wheelchair basketball. The game became something of an _Enterprise_ event, as several crewmembers watched the match in the gymnasium, picking the winner between Sulu's and Lt. Condor's teams. Sulu and some of the officers in security had a clear advantage over others, as they had practice using the manual wheelchairs. The game was far from professional—crewmembers fell out of their chairs, could not properly control the speed, tired easily, and dropped the ball on several occasions. The game was also rather violent. They crashed into each other, elbowed each other—Leonard later complained that he had _more_ injuries from the game than from any single away mission. Pavel named himself the referee and he handed out penalties left and right to crewmembers who mistakenly used their legs to propel themselves or stood to their feet in the chair. It was rather amusing to see him blow the whistle so often and get into heated arguments, half in Standard and half in Russian, with the players.

By the end of the game, everyone was tired but in high spirits, particularly Sulu. I watched as Jim wheeled himself over to Sulu and they exchanged a series of high-fives. The security officers followed suit and gathered around the two of them, proceeding to cheer and chant "Sulu, Sulu, Sulu." From behind, the crowd parted, allowing Lt. Condor and Pavel to dump a cooler of ice cold water on them both.

Leonard and Christine report that Sulu is making great progress in physical therapy, though he still must undergo several follow up surgeries. It takes an immense toll on him—there are times when Sulu is constantly in pain. Regaining sensation and control of his limbs is by no means a straightforward endeavor. When I visit to read with him, Sulu is sometimes silent, emotionally and physically drained. Christine assures us that such extremes of emotional highs and lows are normal. He is often frustrated with the slow rate at which he is recovering and angry at the lack of control he has over some of his most basic bodily functions. The constant need to monitor himself and pay attention to his condition is something new. Sulu is much more used to pushing his body to the limit than holding back and making fine adjustments.

"He needed that," Jim said, emerging from the fresher and drying his hair with a towel. His hair stuck up every which way. "You should play with us next time."

I raised an eyebrow.

"You might like it."

"I have been preoccupied modifying certain parts of the _Enterprise_ to more easily accommodate Sulu's hoverchair."

"Have you heard from Areel or Number One about the legal issues with that?"

"Given that half of Engineer Scott's modifications to the ship's engines are explicitly prohibited by Federation and Starfleet regulation, I am not particularly worried about the legality of these changes we are introducing now."

Jim laughed.

"How's the crew feeling? Did you talk to Scotty and Nyota?"

"The additional engineering projects have kept Scotty preoccupied. He has been very enthusiastic to help Sulu in every way possible and I believe that actively participating in Sulu's recovery, contributing his unique skill set has accelerated his own recovery. Nyota has told me that he is now able to sleep five to six hours, though the nightmares have not decreased in frequency."

Jim nodded.

"And Nyota?"

"She is tired."

"Yeah, I noticed that too. We should give her some time on light duty."

"I am not certain if she will comply with our orders, Jim. Now that Sulu has been injured, she feels she must do more to make up for the loss."

"What? She doesn't need to do that."

"It is her emotional reaction. We did make them our second officers."

"Okay. I'll keep that in mind. Tell me if you think she's overworking herself. Must be hell with Scotty still having nightmares."

"I have asked Leonard to monitor her condition also."

"Good idea. I think Bones is the happiest of all of us right now. No idea why."

"He is practicing his craft. Sulu may be frustrated with what he believes to be an extremely slow rate of progress, but Leonard is, I have on good authority, elated by the 'leaps and bounds' Sulu is making. I cannot go to Sickbay without being subjected to one of his odes to the marvels of the body."

"Figures," Jim smiled. "Which reminds me, I need to tell him to give Chris a break. She's been working round the clock with all of us—me, Nyota, Scotty, now Sulu."

"I would not worry, Jim. Christine has always been able to balance the stresses of the job fairly well."

"I guess so. You know I asked her once, how she's always so cool?"

"What did she answer?"

"Yoga. She does yoga with a group in the gym. When things get really bad, she said she does it on the Observation Deck."

"Fascinating."

"We all figure out ways to deal," Jim nodded, then paused. "I have no idea what to do with Chekov."

"I am not certain that he knows what to do with himself either."

"Every time he's on the bridge, he's got so much energy it makes me twitch."

"Perhaps it would help to expand his responsibilities."

"Maybe. But it's weird. He's usually so chill about everything."

"I believe something broke during the Redjac situation."

"Because of Scotty?"

"Because of you. You almost died, Jim."

A pause.

"But I've almost died before."

"Jim."

He looked at me. I do not know what expression was on my face, but he immediately raised two fingers. I met them.

"Sorry. Wasn't thinking."

"I am not sure that we will discover a specific reason as to why Pavel has reacted in this manner. There is rarely ever one reason why a person changes at a particular time, and I have no doubt that if he had a choice, he would choose not to act this way at all."

"Basically, play it by ear. I can do that," he grinned. "Shit, I almost forgot. Areel said that HQ's finally done looking over the files about Argelius."

"And?"

"It took her a lot of arguing and wrangling, but they're not going to do a formal retrial. It's going to go down on Scotty's file, but you need pretty high clearance to look at it. And he owes the Academy a few years teaching engineering."

Considering the circumstances, that is a remarkable outcome.

"She says we owe her a huge favor," Jim gave me a significant look.

"You are going to tell me that you've agreed to do something ridiculous."

"Hey, I was cornered into this. Areel and Number One both pulled me into this. We owe her a ton of favors too, letting us keep Sulu on the ship."

"Your prevarication indicates that you have volunteered me for this ridiculous endeavor also."

A pause.

"You know that recruiting ad for Starfleet the Admiralty wanted to make?"

* * *

"Goddamnit, I'm a doctor, not a clown! Get that brush away from me," Leonard fumed at the makeup artist. "Jim, I don't understand why the hell I'm getting involved in this!"

"The polls are clear, Bones," Jim winked. "The ladies love you."

"When did _I_ become the 'sexiest man in medicine'?"

"It's the scowl, Len," Christine laughed. She took the brush from the harried makeup artist. "Now stand still and let me do this or you'll look washed out under the lights."

"All right people, any questions? Everyone clear on what we're doing?"

"No," Leonard grumbled, pulling at his dress uniform.

"Just to repeat, we're going to film you saying these lines—you don't need to memorize them, they'll be prompted to you. And we've set up a few photoshoot locations for afterwards."

"Question," Nyota said.

"Yes, Lt. Uhura?"

"You never told us what kind of look you're going for."

"Standard patriotic stuff, obviously. With an edge."

"An edge?"

* * *

"Commander, could you step closer to the captain—yeah. That's good. Perfect. Look like you're in the middle of a crisis."

We were on the bridge, personnel surrounding us. The photographer's camera began clicking.

"Commander, could you try and look more serious? You're coming off as kind of skeptical right now. Think thoughts about the Doomsday Machine. Or Nero."

Jim glanced at me.

"No—you've totally closed off your face now. I need _intensity_."

"Hold on a sec," Jim told the photographer. "Let me talk to him."

I looked at him.

"I know you think this is illogical, but it's not for a bad cause," he said, voice quiet. "We need more recruits, and you know that."

"These recruitment videos misrepresent the reality of service aboard a starship. They manipulate the emotions and perceptions of the viewer to induce them to volunteer."

"And they can leave any time they want at the Academy. It's not like they're signing their life away, Spock. Recruitment videos up the number of applicants to Starfleet so that we get the best possible cadets."

I looked at him.

"There was a time when I found your use of logic attractive."

"What, it's not anymore?"

"Not when I find myself losing arguments with increasing frequency." I pitched my voice low. "You could convince me to do anything."

Jim exerted visible effort not to react to my words.

"Photographers, Spock."

"They have already been recording our interaction. I believe you succeeded in making me look sufficiently 'intense' and 'serious'."

"Yeah?"

And radiating off him is desire.

"Yes."

"Well, it's a two way street." I can do anything, as long as you're with me. You know that.

I nodded.

We stepped away from each other.

"Was that good enough?"

"Great! Wonderful shots! Now let's head to the transporter room for some more filming there."

* * *

"Areel's got a nephew who's got leukemia. She wondered if we could all record a message and send it to him. His name's Trayin. She said he wants to be a pilot on the _Enterprise_."

"Of course!" Christine replied.

"Okay. I guess I'll go first."

Jim pressed the record button.

"Hey Trayin—this is Captain Kirk on the USS _Enterprise_. I've got my whole crew here and we wanted to say we hope you get well soon, buddy. I'm saving a seat right here on the _Enterprise_ for you."

Jim motioned for me to come to the forefront. I held up the ta'al.

"Trayin, this is Commander Spock speaking. I wish you a speedy recovery and as Captain Kirk said, I look forward to the day when you will be able to join us on the _Enterprise_. Live long and prosper."

"Hey kiddo! I'm Sulu, helmsman for Captain Kirk and Commander Spock. Hang in there—I know it's not easy being sick all the time. But you can do anything you want, Trayin. Just ask my pal Chekov here—"

"_Privyet_, Trayin. I hope you get well soon and become a pilot soon. The _Enterprise_ is a wery good ship—we will take care of you."

"So hang in there! Sulu out."

"Chekov out."

"Trayin, I'm Montgomery Scott, but everyone here calls me Scotty. I hope you feel better soon, lad."

"Hi Trayin. This is Lt. Nyota Uhura, communications officer for the _Enterprise_ speaking. Areel told us you want to be a pilot—you should go into communications instead—it's better"

"Hey! Yota! Stop trying to convert him!"

"Don't listen to anything she says, Trayin. Engineering's the best department."

She laughed.

"I hope you get well soon, Trayin. We'd love to have you on board."

"Hey sweetie, I'm Nurse Christine Chapel."

"And I'm Dr. Leonard McCoy."

"Leukemia's not an easy thing to go through—you must be a very brave person, Trayin. Get well soon, take care of yourself, and I hope someday you can be a pilot on the _Enterprise_."

"But make sure you stop and smell the roses along the way. You've got plenty of time and lots of potential, Trayin. More than anything, we want you to live life to the fullest. You're strong—I've got no doubt about that. Get well soon, kiddo."

Jim stepped to the forefront again.

"Get well soon, Trayin, and good luck from all of us. You'll be an awesome pilot. And if you change your mind about wanting to be a pilot, that's cool too. Just do what you love, and love what you do."


	216. Ch 216

"Aw hell."

"You've got to be shitting me," Sulu said.

"I honestly don't know how it happened, Spock," Christine said.

Scotty and Nyota entered the Sickbay.

"We came as soon as we heard," he said.

"Is security on it? Are there feeds?' Nyota asked.

"Commander has already looked through ewerything. There is nothing."

"Nothing? What do you mean, lad, nothing?"

"Blank. Screen is blank for sewen minutes."

"We were here the whole time, Doc was taking scans to see how my latest surgery went. How does this _happen_?"

"He was waiting at my desk, last time I checked. He was goddamn _here_ last time I checked."

"Sir," Giotto's voice through the terminal. "We've finished our preliminary search of the ship. There's no trace of him."

"Follow protocol," Sulu answered. "Start search phase two."

"Already done, sir. Giotto out."

"Spock? Spock say something, you're scaring me."

Silence.

"What do you wish me to say, ndugu?"

This is the last known location of the captain before he disappeared. There is no trace of him.

"We'll find him," Scotty put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

I nodded absently.

"We are not knowing where to start."

"This had better not be Trelane. Or the fucking Taxidermist," Sulu ran his hand through his hair.

Then, a body appeared, back flayed open, shaking and bloody.

The Sickbay erupted with chaos. Tricorders, monitors, Leonard shouting, Christine running to gather supplies, stepping forward to see, to identify—

"Get _out_ of the way! Chapel where the hell are you!"

Hair dirty, back flayed, crisscrossed with the marks of whips—

"Back up! Now! Jim—" he flashed a penlight in Jim's eyes. "Goddamnit. Goddamnit Chapel get over here!"

Backing away, allow the the medical staff do their jobs hand competent faces calm Leonard yelling—

Then—

"You may have your captain back."

"We must admit, we were extremely disappointed. He is not half so powerful or stimulating as all the hype makes him out to be."

"And we have no use for broken goods."

"That is all."

"_Podozhditye_!"

Silence.

"Well, what do you want?"

"Are you omniscient, omnipotent, and eternal?"

Scoffing.

"The answer to that is self evident."

"Of all the stupid things to ask. _Of course_ we are, you silly little creature."

"We could break your ship if we wanted to."

"It's fortunate for you that we don't want to. Breaking things is so juvenile."

"But fun, if you're in the mood for it."

"Don't start with that again Three."

"Just because you never had the taste for it."

"Quiet, Two, Three. I think the little creatures are angry."

"How droll."

"And not so much as a 'thank you'. Whatever."

"Four, let's go find someone more interesting to torment."

"Honestly. I don't see why they think he's so special. Give me Jack the Ripper over Kirk any day."

"They have their silly morals."

Voices fading.

"I don't know why you're complaining so much."

"I hate it when we get broken goods."

"He performed well enough to convince us to return him."

"The gall of him, thinking he could intellectually manipulate _us_."

"I thought it was rather funny."

"Come _along_, Four. Things to do, you know. Galaxies to harvest."

"Go ahead, I'll catch up."

Silence.

"I'm—" voice halting. "He's not broken."

Silence.

"He's not."

Silence.

And then

Jim screams.


	217. Ch 217

"Jim."

He would not meet my eyes. I reached for him, but he stepped away.

"Jim, look at me."

Blue eyes with a veil behind them.

"Tell me."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Then may I initiate telepathic contact—"

"No."

Silence.

Jim exhaled.

"No. It's over. We can move on."

"Jim, whatever happened clearly affected you deeply—"

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

"Dr. McCoy—"

"No. Fuck no."

"Jim—"

"I said no. Unless you want to declare me compromised. It's your choice, Commander."

I stiffened, then willed myself to relax.

"Then I will respect your request."

Sick relief flooded his eyes. My throat seemed to close, seeing Jim so deliberately avoid contact with me. After all we have been through—now this.

I pushed that thought aside and clamped down firmly on my telepathy.

"Jim, may I—?" I extended two fingers.

He shook his head.

"I am controlling my telepathy strictly."

"I know. I just," he reached out, then retreated again. "I can't. It's not that I don't trust you."

Deep hurt sank in, like a physical sensation in my body.

"I can't. You'd see. I don't want to take you back there."

The only question reverberating in my mind—what have they done? What have they done to make him retreat so wholly from me, from all of us?

"We're back on the _Enterprise_. It's fine."

Jim. Jim, please.

"Listen, I need a few shifts to myself. Everything'll be fine, I just need time to clear my head."

I nodded.

"Of course. If you need anything, I will be in Sickbay."

"Okay."

Neither of us made a move to leave.

"Jim—"

"I'll be fine. It's a funk. I'll get over it," he managed a painful smile.

Please. Let me help. To stand by your side is no longer enough, not when you are so clearly hurting. Please. Jim, please.

"I'm—we're back. I have you. That's enough to keep me going."

"If I may—?" I stepped forward and looked at his lips.

I needed something, some sign that he was whole, standing before me. His flayed back had been repaired with relative ease.

Jim pressed his lips against mine quickly, so quickly that the moment of contact felt like a mere glancing touch. I reflexively reached out to hold his arm and bring him back to me, but he disengaged from my grip.

"No. I might not be able to control myself."

"Control—?"

So many questions, so many thoughts incomplete. I cannot even begin to attempt to fill in these blanks. Jim will not tell me. I will not take those answers from him.

"Might never stop kissing you. Drag you to bed. Touch you everywhere."

Desire spiked through me.

"Fuck," Jim breathed. "Fuck. Spock, out. Now. I can't do this. Out."

"Jim—"

"Now. Get. Out. Now."

Before I could respond, Jim pushed me out of his quarters, the bulkheads closed, and I heard the lock click. I stared at the doors.

Hurt blossomed, an ache in my chest that this is where Jim draws the line. That I am separated from him. More than ever, I desire us to be bonded, mentally linked in both emotions and intellect. More than ever, I fear that Jim will reject my proposal.

I tentatively put my hand against his door to glean something, anything, from him. As I open the gateways to my telepathy, I clench my fist.

I love him.

I love him, and I will respect him. I will respect his need for space and privacy, and I will wait for the time that Jim is ready to tell me whatever it is that is destroying him inside. This lack of trust, this boundary he draws around himself pains me deeply, but I will not take what he does not wish to disclose.

I love him, so I will stand by him. For even if he does not wish to share this burden with me, I am my own person. He cannot stop me from standing beside him. And if—when—if he chooses to disclose these secrets he holds tightly to himself, I will be ready.

_Entreat me not to leave thee, and to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God; where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me._

_

* * *

_

"Spock. Got a moment?" Leonard did not wait for an answer. "Good."

"Doctor."

"It's Jim."

I made no reply.

"Don't just stand there mute, for God's sake. Has he told you what the hell happened?"

"He has not."

"Goddamnit. God of Heaven damnit. I'm going to strangle him."

"By 'him,' I assume you mean God."

Leonard laughed, the sound a harsh bark.

"Him too. Spock, you've got to do something. The readings I got aren't normal, even for Jim. He's been under some kind of severe emotional and mental stress, and it's showing up in flashing red lights all over his goddamn system."

"I see no way to remedy this situation. Jim refuses to let me near him."

"He won't let you touch him?"

"He believes I may read something through my telepathy."

"That idiot. Why does this happen? How does this always happen?"

"I am at a loss for an explanation as well. How is his physical condition otherwise?"

"This feels like that goddamn mission with Karidian all over again. He's got himself locked down tighter than Fort Knox and this is going to explode. You just watch."

"There is no need for dire predictions, Leonard."

"You know what I mean."

"Jim once explained to me that you are prone to hyperbolic statements when you are distressed."

"Doesn't it feel that way to you?"

I nodded, conceding his point.

"There are similarities between this situation and to the events leading up his confession concerning Tarsus IV. However, you have not answered my question. How is the captain's physical condition?"

"The captain? You're sliding into Vulcan-speak."

"Doctor. Given that we are unable to reach the captain in any meaningful way, I believe the best course of action is to allow some time to pass and then approach the matter when he feels safer to discuss it. This is standard practice in Terran psychotherapy, is it not?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't work that way with Jim. You saw how he was with Tarsus—never breathed a word about it to a soul until we forced his hand. Leaving Jim alone isn't going to solve anything, Spock. We've got to confront him. I don't care if it's you or me or both of us or the whole damn crew. Time doesn't help anything."

"I have already tried to ask him—"

"And he shut you down. He's really good at that. He's had years of practice. You've got to be aggressive and real persistent about asking him."

"Jim was not willing to allow physical contact. That indicates a severe trauma, the effects of which might be exacerbated if we force him to recount whatever happened."

"You don't hear what I'm saying, you green blooded hobgoblin. Time only makes Jim build stronger walls around his memories and he never processes them. He's never processed any of the trauma that he's been through in a healthy way, never acknowledged that it exists—"

"On the contrary, Leonard, he knows very well the experiences he has undergone and has found necessary ways of coping with them. They are more unusual according to Terran standards, but he has survived thus far to become a captain."

"Do I have to pull seniority on you? I've known Jim for more than six years and I know how he deals with things. I've seen it over and over, like a goddamn script, he's that predictable. He's not going to talk about it if you let him get away with that—"

"I do not plan on letting the matter pass without mention, and it is clear from the fact that you are contesting my opinion that neither are you. If you are so convinced that your method is correct, then why do you not confront him yourself? He considers you to be his best friend."

"Because I think you've got a better chance of getting him to talk than I do. Whenever I start asking him questions like that, he clams up and treats me like a doctor."

"You are asking these questions out of medical concern."

"I'm asking these goddamn questions because I'm his friend, you pointy eared bastard!"

"I did not intend to insult you, Leonard. I was not excluding that from your motivations, only noting that the two overlap."

Leonard slumped.

"Sorry. I didn't mean that. But the point is, Jim's got them separate. You've seen how much hates being in Sickbay."

"You are also aware that his aversion stems from experiences in his past."

"And I don't blame him. Being in and out of hospitals all the time aint exactly the rodeo. That doesn't matter. You still need to get to the bottom of this."

"Or you will take it upon yourself to do so?"

"If I have to. Not that it'll do any good."

"Has it never occurred to you, Leonard, that perhaps the timeframe does not matter for you because when you ask Jim such questions, he perceives them as hostile and invasive—no matter when you ask, he will be reluctant to answer. If, as you say, he is more receptive to my attempts, then could it not be detrimental if we do as you say and push him before he is comfortable? Then he will perceive my questions in the same light as yours."

Leonard paused, considering my argument. He shook his head.

"Goddamnit, I'm having a debate about human psychology with a Vulcan and I might be losing!"

"Then you agree."

He sighed.

"You've got a point. I hadn't thought of that."

"Then you will allow him to recover at his own pace."

"We'll see. There're limits to this."

"I agree. However, for the time being, you will not cajole him in your usual manner—we have reached a consensus in that aspect."

"Consensus," Leonard snorted. "All right, I'll sign this treaty. I'll be damned if I didn't sell my soul to the devil."

"You have not, I assure you. One cannot sell that which has already been parceled out on one hundred eighty-nine occasions to Cerberus, Buddha, the Valkyries, Hades, Michael the Archangel, Legion, and if I recall correctly, an individual by the name of General Robert E. Lee."

"Now I know that half the statistics that fly out of your mouth are baloney," he smiled.

"They are not."

"Aint my fault if Jim makes me go through mass conversions like that."

"Indeed. You still have not answered my question concerning his physical condition."

"It's not pretty. There're signs of multiple breaks and strains, combined with unusually rapid healing. It didn't do his old injuries any favors either. The tricorder reads are gorgeous, in a way only Jim can pull off."

"Is there any indication of sexual violation?"

"No. If there were, I'd pull him back here so fast, his head'd be spinning."

"You are certain."

"I can't be certain about anything, but as far as tricorder readings go, they didn't touch him that way. I wouldn't rule out torture, though," he said darkly. "And there're ways to sexually violate people without even touching them.

I absorbed Leonard's words. I did not desire to think of the implications.

"Thank you for that information."

"Just... don't let him box us out. He's good at that, right at the time when he needs people most."

I nodded. A charged silence fell over us.

"He's going to be the death of me someday."

"I believe he will be the death of us all, Leonard."

"I hate it when you're right more than once."

"Then you must harbor an unusually high amount of animosity towards me at all times."

Leonard laughed.

"Damn straight. Now go get changed. M'Benga's going to do your physical."

"Doctor, I hardly think that is necessary—"

"Don't argue with me on this one, damnit! I don't know how you're still standing after this mess, but it's my job to keep you standing. Now get to the biobed. M'Benga'll be here in a minute."


	218. Ch 218

"Lt. Uhura." Jim's voice was sharp.

"Captain?"

"What the hell is this?"

"A report of our current efficiency ratings, sir."

"I read the title, lieutenant. I'm referring to the fact that the _Enterprise_ rates at seventy-four percent. What happened."

"The recent influx of replacements has likely contributed to the decrease in our efficiency ratings. Furthermore, the damage sustained by the ship—"

"I don't want to hear excuses."

Nyota's eyes narrowed. She straightened.

"No excuses sir."

"Why haven't you been running drills."

"I've been bringing the replacements for Communications up to standard, sir."

"I thought I said I didn't want to hear excuses. What part of that didn't you understand."

"I understood everything perfectly, sir."

"Then why haven't you been running drills."

"No excuses, sir."

"Spock, get over here."

"Captain."

"Plan a full rotation of drills to be executed every shift."

"Captain, the ship's environmental systems are not—"

"Get. It. Done. Seventy-four percent efficiency is fucking unacceptable."

"Jim, the replacements have not yet acclimated to the operations of the _Enterprise_. I recommend that we postpone the exercise until—"

"Stand before me at attention, Commander."

I flicked my eyes at Nyota. Her face was expressionless. I took two steps and stood before Jim in perfect military posture.

"When I give an order, Commander, I expect it to be carried out. Not questioned, not challenged. Now, are you going to do this, or should I relieve you of duty."

"You have made yourself clear, captain."

"Then fucking do it the first time I tell you."

"Understood."

"What're you waiting for. Dismissed."

* * *

"Drink up, lads."

Scotty, Sulu, and Pavel raised their shot glasses, downed the liquid, then immediately poured another.

"Jesus Christ," Sulu muttered after his second shot. "Captain's fucked up."

"Aye. You can say that again. Spock, would you like some chocolate? Well, strictly speaking it's cacao drink. Nyota found it somewhere, she thought you might need it."

I nodded. Scotty produced another glass, poured the drink, and offered it to me.

"Hold on, let me refill ours."

"Bottom's up, Pasha."

Pavel was already draining his glass. I followed suit.

"You know something's wrong when Spock's driven to drink."

"One glass is hardly enough to inebriate me, Scotty."

"We'll have to fix that," he replied.

"Can't we ever get a break?" Sulu flexed his fingers.

"It would seem that is not the standard operating procedure of the universe."

"I thought Redjac, then Ialla'akhlla was bad—keptan shutting down," Pavel shook his head. "It is much, much worse."

"He has not broken down," I replied.

"He isn't quite right either," Scotty said. "Do you know what happened?"

I stared at the cacao drink, then drank it down.

"That bad?"

"No." I paused, then poured another. "No, Sulu, he has not disclosed the nature of his experience to me. He refuses."

"Ouch. Sorry."

"It is a minor setback."

"You wouldn't be touching that stuff if it were," Scotty nodded towards the cacao.

"My judgment may be somewhat compromised, in light of recent events."

"I can only imagine," Sulu said. "Thanks, by the way. For, well. You know. Everything. Holding us together. We've got your back."

"_Da, spasibo_."

"Couldn't have been easy, Spock," Scotty said quietly. His eyes had old shadows, unresolved memories of Redjac controlling his body.

"Thanks are unnecessary. You would have attempted the same, you only lacked psionic ability."

"Here, lads, let's drink to that."

"Scotty—"

"Never refuse a toast, Spock. We know how much this is costing you. So lads."

Scotty, Sulu, and Pavel raised their glasses again. I raised mine as well. We drank.

"It'll get better," Sulu said, body now relaxed. "We bounce back. It's like a rule of physics, right?"

"I am not knowing this rule."

"Then write a paper about it or something. Make it up."

"Aye, we'll be okay. As a matter of fact, I'm feeling better already."

"Alcohol is a depressant."

"I know that, bloody Russian. Is this why you lot are depressed and stone faced all the time up there? The winter and that poor excuse of a drink you call vodka?"

Pavel shrugged.

"We are not depressed. And nothing is better than wodka. It is like water."

"Can I try some of that, Spock? The cacao?"

"Of course."

Sulu cautiously poured a glass, then tipped it back.

"Woah. It's way more bitter than chocolate. Closer to espresso or something. Interesting."

"Theobromine acts in Vulcans in an analogous way as alcohol acts in Terrans."

"Is that meaning that you are getting drunk off coffee, Spock? If I remember—alcohol makes me remember chemistry, it is wery strange—it is like caffeine. _Kstati_, a Russian discovered theobromine."

"Actually, large doses of caffeine can be fatal to Vulcans."

"Killed by a cup of coffee. That's one I've never heard."

"Terrans may suffer from caffeine poisoning as well."

"So whenever Jim has a cup of coffee—or three, like he sometimes does—what's going through your mind?" Sulu asked.

"Or when any of us drink coffee, for that matter," Scotty said.

"There is a natural instinct to recoil."

"Have you ever kissed after coffee? Does he know about this?"

"He does."

"And making out?"

"I was not aware that you gossiped, Sulu."

"Are you having me on? We all gossip, especially when it comes to a tight lipped pair like you and Jim," Scotty smiled. "It's practically the favorite pastime of the lads and ladies in my department."

"And by extension, yourself?"

"No. Scotty's too busy keeping his own relationship under wraps."

"Um, _privyet_ keptan."

I blinked, then stood.

"Jim."

His eyes flicked over me, then to the glass on the table.

"Jim! Come and join us! I know I've got another glass here somewhere."

"No, thanks. I was just dropping by."

"Come on, Jim," Sulu went towards him.

"Nah. Spock, I'll be in my quarters."

He left.

Sulu and Pavel looked at each other, while Scotty put his hand on my shoulder.

"How long do you think he was standing there?"

"Not wery long."

"You saw?"

"I am hoping."

"I believe I should leave."

Scotty tightened his grip on my shoulder, then let go. Sulu shook his head.

"Good luck."

"_Udachi_."

"We'll be right here."

* * *

"Jim?"

I entered his quarters.

"Yeah? I'm right here. What's up?"

I had no words. Instead, I went to him.

"You had chocolate," he said.

"We have been—it was—"

"It's fine, I get it."

Between us hung his heavy look, like an accusation of something I did not know I was guilty of.

Silence.

I cannot abide the silence, but I do not know what to say.

"Jim, will you not tell me?"

"About what?"

"You have not been the same since—"

"Neither have you."

Silence.

"I can tell you about my—the experience we had—"

"It's fine."

"If you find verbal communication painful, then I may meld with you—"

"Drop it, Spock."

"Jim, keeping this to yourself will not resolve your emotions or this tension that is running through the ship."

"I said drop it. Talking about it doesn't do jackshit. It's over. I'm moving on."

"Clearly you are not, since you have been unusually short-tempered with the crew and unreasonably demanding of all those around you."

"Shut up."

"You are in denial and it is taking a toll on your ability to lead, captain. Suppressing the memories and feelings associated with your experience is not a healthy means of coping with the trauma that has clearly been inflicted on you. Repeating to yourself that everything will 'be fine' does not make it so."

"Stop fucking analyzing me. You don't fucking know so shut the fuck up."

"As your First Officer, it is my responsibility to inform you of factors that are contributing to the mismanagement of the ship and decrease in morale, to warn you of the possibility of unsound command decisions. If you remain in this state of denial, it will affect your frame of mind, which in turn will be detrimental to the smooth operation of the _Enterprise_."

"Get out."

"These are the facts, captain."

"Get the fuck out now."

"I do not ask that you confide in me, only that you confide in anyone at all—"

"Shut the _fuck_ up and get out _now_."

Jim's blue eyes burned. My fists were clenched at my sides.

"As you wish, sir."

I took two steps towards the door, then stopped. I quickly turned, closed the distance between us, and kissed him, biting down on his lip hard and sucking, driving the message into his mind.

_I will return_.

And then left.


	219. Ch 219

It has begun.

Jim is slowly killing himself again.

All of the crew has been watching him carefully, making sure that he does not skip meals and eats at least two thousand calories per three shifts. However, they cannot prevent him from exercising his body its limits. And he does not sleep.

The time and distance from his memories seems to have eased his fear that I will detect what weighs so heavily on his mind and body. He kisses me, sometimes feather light, sometimes deeper. Burned into his emotions are the remnants of fear and desperation, a desire to capture me and hold me close. We have not yet engaged in sexual intercourse. I do not know why, but when he does allow me to sleep with him, I suspect the encounter will be more violent than we have been before. There is a wildness underlying that he has not unleashed, not even in his countless rounds of boxing, wrestling, sparring.

The security personnel are all worried. The ship is on edge. The crew needs their captain, and they need him to be well.

I do not know how to reach Jim and pull him from the depth in which he is burying himself. He is better than I anticipated at deflecting all my attempts at inquiry.

When he is finally exhausted enough to sleep, he dreams. Nightmares. Jim does not say anything out loud as I have often heard is the case with Terrans. He simply wakes in the middle of sleep, chest heaving, hands gripping the side of the bed. The first time this happened, I was working on a report in his quarters. Jim woke with a shallow gasp, staggered to the fresher, and began to expel everything he had eaten. He was trembling, kneeling on the floor when I reached him.

I asked no questions, only carefully helped Jim to his feet. In the limited space of the fresher, I pulled him close and wrapped my arms around him, my left arm supporting his back, my right hand stroking his hair. He shuddered against me and tried to pull away but I remained firm. Standing there for a few minutes, I felt Jim's tension rising and falling, fear mounting and collapsing. Exhaustion was heavy in his limbs.

"Stay," he whispered.

I guided us to his bed and he laid down. I lay beside him, arms enclosing him. He relaxed into me and I opened my telepathic awareness enough to detect when he had drifted off again into a fitful sleep. At one point, Jim latched onto me forcefully, eyes squeezed tight. Another soundless nightmare.

I remained awake, mind spinning with conjectures. What happened? Why will he not tell me?

His face is haunted. The dreams give him no peace. His body is wiry again. The once smooth muscle and soft skin is replaced with a tautness, the frame of his body becoming more and more skeletal.

I love this man. I will not let him destroy himself.

But I do not know what to do, I have no clue as to what presses on him, why he refuses to tell me anything. If he would speak to someone—it does not have to be myself or Leonard—I could at least know that he is not keeping everything to himself. What was Jim's existence like before, that this is his natural reaction to life-shattering trauma? Perhaps it is the only reaction one can have and remain sane. What happened to him? What did _they_ do?

It is evident by the conversation that he was able to successfully appeal to them. Why did they take him? What alien species judged itself to have the right to do this to him? To us? Who decided these events were to take place? Jim has told no one of the purpose, the contents, or the consequences of his experience. We do not even know how long he spent with them, only that it must have been some weeks.

The question that hurts me most—why was I not there with him? If they knew of Jim's reputation, they must have known that he and I are in a relationship. Was it a test of fortitude in the face of isolation? Jim underwent this ordeal entirely alone. What did he feel? What did he think? I swore I would never leave his side.

As he slept, I could not help but transmit images and emotions to him. The image of our shore leave on Placer, kissing each other while treading water. Our apartment in New York, cooking a meal together. Small moments in intimate darkness when, after the pleasure of sex has passed, I kiss him under his jaw, on his right collarbone, on the left side of his hipbone. But also ordinary occasions in the mess hall when all eight of us are dining together, laughing as Scotty tells another outrageous anecdote of his Academy days. Underlying it all is the message—come back to me. Come back to us.

I transmitted these messages, but I respected his mind. I did not go so far as to see how they were received by Jim and his unconscious.

When Jim woke, some of the veil lifted in his blue eyes.

He made no move to leave, though we both had to report to duty soon.

"Hey."

"Jim."

"Was that you? With those—?"

"Your sleep seemed uneasy. I desired to alleviate that."

"Did you see—?"

"No. I did not invade your privacy."

Jim looked simultaneously relieved and frustrated. The relief is obvious, but the frustration—it is possible that he desires to tell me, but something is preventing him. Habit, perhaps, or long accustomed fear.

"It was... I slept better. I think."

"I am glad it helped you."

Such simple statements. I am glad. I helped you. I would not have been able to say them to him a year ago. Now I offer them, but Jim cannot decide whether to take my offer. It grieves me that he is so painfully cautious.

Patience. It is necessary to be patient.

Leonard is already impatient. He and I seem to have a disagreement every shift, not necessarily related to Jim, but suddenly small differences have been blown out of proportion. I understand the doctor's concern and that he is more familiar with Jim's episodes than I am. However, I stand by my original position.

Yet I am constantly reminded of the fact that not one year ago, I had difficulty navigating my own emotions. How can I navigate Jim's, whose background is that much more complex? I am insufficiently prepared to deal with what he is going through despite my desire to help him.

"Jim, will you not tell me? I—it may help you to recount the matter."

He disentangled himself and sat up on the edge of the bed, his back to me. Jim stretched, his arms reaching above his head. I watched his shoulder blades, sharp like knives, shifting, the bones of his spine curving in and out.

"I'm going to take a shower."

He went into the fresher and closed the door.

I got up from bed, frustration and anger washing through me. I heard the sound of water sputtering from the showerhead. I sank to the floor and took a moment to center to myself and go through a light meditative exercise. If I did not, I feared I would lose control during the shift. He is so close to me physically, but the Trials stand between us.

By the time Jim emerged from the fresher, I had a hold of my emotions.

"You can have it now. I'm done."

I nodded and attended to my hygienic needs.

Jim was already dressed and working at his terminal when I began changing into a fresh uniform. His eyes flickered to me every so often, but he said nothing. I went to his side.

He threaded his fingers through mine and kissed me. I returned his kiss, wanting more, needing more, but holding back. He bit my lip and sucked, ran his fingers through my hair, then stopped abruptly.

"Ready to go?"

I recomposed myself.

"Yes." My voice was pitched low.

Jim's body tightened at the sound of my voice, then relaxed.

"All right," we stepped out of his quarters. "I'm not really in the mood for breakfast."

Jim. Jim, please.


	220. Ch 220

"No, this eighty-fifth passage should be played faster."

"It's impossible to play it that fast, Spock. I'm a human, you're a Vulcan. You said this was difficult even for Vulcans to manage."

"Your proficiency at the lute surpasses that of most Vulcans. You are able to play this at its proper speed. Try again."

Nyota took a deep breath, then began playing.

For reasons unknown, the fact that her tempo still lagged caused disproportionate reactions in us both.

"Insufficient."

Nyota's eyes sparked with anger.

"I'm trying."

"Try again."

She suddenly thrust the lute aside and swept the music away with a sound of frustration.

"I don't _need_ this from you too, Spock! First Jim, now you! I don't care about this eighty-fifth whatever, this tempo is inhumanly ridiculous! Stop telling me I can do better because I can't. I'm tired, I've had a long shift, and if you're going to nitpick everything I do, then leave. I want to sleep."

We stared at each other.

I broke the silence.

"I apologize. You are correct—we are not in an optimal frame of mind to practice this piece rigorously."

"I don't think I'll ever be able to practice it rigorously."

"Your estimation of your own ability is inaccurate."

"Spock."

"I am offering an objective evaluation. I see no reason why you should take offense to that."

Nyota put her hand to her forehead.

"I know it's objective," she sighed. "And I know you meant it as a compliment, but that's not how I took it."

"If you would elaborate on that statement and provide clarification."

"It sounded like you were criticizing me, saying that I can do better. If I were feeling better, I would probably hear what you meant to say, but my emotional reserves are low right now. Your objectivity sounded harsh, and I didn't want to hear it."

"I did not intend to place that emotional connotation into my statement."

"I know. But you know that communication depends on both people involved, and it take time and energy to process what's being said. When humans are tired or feeling raw, the amount of effort we're willing to put into understanding others is very low, and we're more likely to interpret words through emotions."

"Yet you are taking the time to explain this to me, despite your exhaustion."

"Because you're ndugu, Spock. It's worth the effort."

Silence.

"Has he told you anything?"

"No."

"Nothing?"

"He refuses."

Nyota's shoulders slumped. She walked to me and put her arms around me.

"Emotions suck."

"Indeed."

"I feel like I've been running a marathon. No. I wish I _could_ run a marathon. Just keep running and running across the plain."

"You find the treadmills at the gymnasium insufficient?"

She nodded.

"I want to feel the earth under my feet. My steps pounding out a rhythm, making the grass rustle and sing."

"Poetic."

"Or sing. Sing and sing and sing all this sadness away."

"I can arrange to have a concert."

"A recital?"

"Yes. One that does not involve the lute."

"No, one that doesn't involve me playing the lute. I'd like you for accompaniment."

"If you find the music, I will gladly do so. It would be a welcome break."

"Okay. It's a plan."

Nyota leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder.

"Spock?"

"Yes?"

"I still have nightmares."

A pause.

"I have not been sleeping well also."

"They aren't specific. Just, screams and fog. Screams and fog."

I do not know if it is better or worse that my nightmares prominently feature faces.

"Scotty has nightmares too. All the time. We wake each other up."

"This will pass, ndugu."

"I know."

"Allow yourself time to process everything that has happened these past missions."

"I want it to pass faster."

"Terrans are not able to accelerate their emotional healing."

"And Vulcans are?"

"Certain meditative exercises are designed to facilitate the process, yes."

Nyota looked at me.

"I know that tone of voice. You're pushing yourself."

"With Jim in the state he is, I cannot afford—"

"No no no no, that's not how it works. No one person carries the emotional load all the time, Spock."

"I cannot ask anything more of him."

"It's not about asking more, it's about leaning on each other. You can't do this. You're going to snap, Spock, if it keeps going this way."

"I do not know what to do."

"Talk to him."

I did not reply.

"Talk to him. Sit him down and talk to him—don't analyze, like you usually do. Talk, and listen."

"I find I am not competent in the skill of providing comfort, as humans require."

"Don't be so stupid. Ndugu, what do you think you're doing right now?"

It is different. This is different.

"I think I know the perfect song for my recital. An old pre-Warp song."

"You enjoy singing those."

"I don't know why, but I do. I think it's because of pre-Warp E. The nuances of it. We'll have to translate this. It won't be difficult."

Nyota suddenly sat up.

"I am just about to be brilliant. Oh, this is perfect. Picture this—Sulu breakdancing, Pavel with his glowsticks, Scotty with the lights. Christine can sing, you know."

"She demonstrated her abilities during the Redjac mission."

"Really? What did she sing?"

"'Row, row, row your boat.'"

Nyota laughed.

"But me and her singing together. On stage."

"And Leonard and Jim?"

"I don't know. I'll think of something. They aren't the singing and dancing type."

"Nor am I."

"I'll work the kinks out, but if we can pull it off—everyone will be blown away. We'll take back everything this universe has wrenched from us."

Nyota looked at me.

"We'll remember why we're in space at all, why we fell in love with our jobs. We'll remember how to laugh again."


	221. Ch 221

How is it possible that one man can hold himself in such a vise-like grip?

Jim makes no mistakes. Even as he begins to eat more and ease his vicious exercise regimen, he is careful with his words. He makes no reference at all to the aliens. It is as though they never happened.

Perhaps Dr. McCoy was right. Perhaps I should have been more aggressive in confronting Jim about the matter. Every shift that passes, Jim becomes more like himself, but the silence, that obvious lacuna and his willful ignorance lends a surreal quality to his behavior. Terrans are not made for that kind of suppression. It leads to problems later on, serious consequences in the form of inexplicable actions and reactions. I know and understand this intellectually, I have read paper after paper, textbooks and encyclopedias concerning Terran psychology. But when it comes to applying that knowledge, I am at a loss. What can one do?

He will not break. That is not the concern at hand. By all appearances, when he is on duty, everything is absolutely normal. He is acting as though nothing has happened and in carrying out this drama, he is making it reality. The main body of the crew is only too glad to see that its captain is well and wholly accepts his behavior. They believe this production he is putting on will confirm it. Nothing has happened. It is what Jim wants to believe, it is how he has coped in the past.

When we are alone, when he is with his core crew, he cannot act. We know him. The play he puts on falls flat because we are not willing to suspend disbelief. We remind him of the reality and the show becomes gruesome. It becomes a mockery of the reality he tries to enact. However, though we will not buy into it, we are divided as to how to approach it. He was totally separated from us in the experience. Jim had no one.

What did the aliens tell him? Did they tell him we had abandoned him? Did they tell him nothing, only let the silence gnaw at him, the doubt choke him?

His silence gnaws at us, damns us.

"So the next mission, Areel said that the negotiations shouldn't be too bad. And Number One managed to get a hot mission that the Admirals've been bickering over, trying to give it to the ships under their command."

Jim tosses the datapad to the side.

"Did you know they compete against each other? Not officially, but they're all counting the number of awards and shit. Weird."

"I was aware of the competitive nature of the politics in the Admiralty."

"Don't they have better things to do? Like overhaul their bureaucracy or something?"

"It is a way to relieve the tension. One cannot be mired in work constantly, especially if that work is tedious, as bureaucratic reforms often are."

"It's more divisive and petty, I think. They could do better things if they wanted a distraction, instead of finding more ways to one up each other."

"Nevertheless, it is part of the culture. When a crisis strikes, those differences are immediately put aside. It is an indication of the increasing stability, if the admirals are engaging in this game."

"Increasing stability? You're telling me that the Admiralty counting how many fucking awards their ships get is a sign of increasing Federation stability?"

"It is logical. If there existed more pressing concerns, then such games would quickly disappear and they would, as you say, 'have better things to do.'"

"That's just," Jim throws up his hands. "Will you stop analyzing the fuck out of everything? For just one fucking minute in my life, can we have a normal conversation?"

"You brought up the subject matter, Jim, and asked specific questions."

"They were fucking off hand. You take every single thing that comes out of my mouth so shitastically seriously and literally, and I didn't mean any fucking thing about it."

"It is my nature to analyze interesting ideas. I found your hypothesis interesting and sought to offer another perspective."

"Yeah, fine, you know what? You want another perspective? Then I'll give you another fucking perspective—fuck this. I'm not having another debate with you about the Admiralty just to listen to you defend those cocksuckers."

"Jim, your reaction is disproportionate to the conversation we were having—"

"Shit fucking _sodomize me with a stick_ don't fucking tell me what to feel or that I'm 'reacting disproportionately'—"

"Jim—"

"And no, I don't think the fact that admirals can give blow jobs to each other is a sign that the Federation is getting stronger or recovering from that Romulan nutfuck—"

"Captain—"

"For once in this fucking thing people call a relationship can you stop taking everything apart and if I want to complain, _just fucking let me complain_ instead of getting on my case about it!"

I was silent.

Jim's eyes were blazing, face contorted in anger.

"I'm leaving."

"Jim, I did not mean—"

"Yeah, I get it. I'm going to the gym. Don't wait up for me."

He left.

The silence damns us.

* * *

"What is it with you, Spock? Hmm? Your planet was just destroyed, your mother murdered, and you're not even upset."

"If you are presuming that these experiences in any way impede my ability to command this ship, you are mistaken."

"And yet you were the one who said fear was necessary for command. I mean, did you see his ship? Did you see what he did?"

"Yes, of course I did."

"So are you afraid or aren't you?"

"I will not allow you to lecture me about the merits of emotion."

"Then why don't you stop me."

"Step away from me—"

"What is it like not to feel anger? Or heartbreak? Or the need to stop at nothing to avenge the woman who gave birth to you?"

"Back away from me."

"You feel nothing! It must not even compute for you! You _NEVER_ loved her!"

* * *

There must be an alternative. I refuse to rip him open as wildly and uncontrollably as he did me. Jim compromised me because there were greater concerns at hand and I would not listen to his suggestion. The needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the few.

There is no crisis at hand. Despite the silence, that is no justification for me to emotionally manipulate him. Jim is resilient—if I were to do so, he would find ways to recover. It seems he has done so all his life. I will not use those tactics. They are intolerable. There must be an alternative.

Patience. Discipline. Time and distance have already helped. I will be patient. My promise to stand by him means nothing if I am, in fact, unable to do so in a time such as this. We will find a way.

Jim has always had a third option. It had not occurred to me that as t'hy'la, I must provide one when he has none to offer.


	222. Ch 222

I am meditating when Jim returns.

He wordlessly strips off his uniform and goes to the fresher. I hear the sounds of a sonic shower.

After seven minutes, he exits the fresher.

"Spock," his voice is toneless. "Get up."

I look up at him. Jim has his captain's mask firmly in place, his eyes burning with violence and suppression.

"Get up."

I make a decision, and rise to my feet. Without his prompting, I divest myself of my clothing.

And he lunges. He grabs at my very skin, gripping into muscle, nails sinking and leaving marks. I push back and latch onto him, fingers pressing against hard bone and muscle. We are locked against each other. I struggle to keep my strength in check while Jim tries to throw me off balance. He pushes, he pulls, sweeps his leg out and hooks his hand around pressure points. I evade his attempts without violence or retaliation, for the most part. But Jim knows, by the look in his eyes, that I am holding back. And he will have none of it.

Suddenly, I lose my footing and Jim takes advantage of that moment. He throws me to the floor and is on top of me positioning himself for a chokehold. I escape his arms but he regroups quickly and is coming at me again. His arms are all over me, his hands searching and touching, angry and telegraphing so much lust. Our legs entangled, contact skin to skin and frenzied thoughts but a certain sense of will, control, the desire to touch me sear me have me moaning his name the longing for release from the cage of emotions he has built himself the resentment that I am holding back the confusion of his fears left unprocessed the rage that he had to undergo his experience the feeling it has been too long since he and I have been together too long since I have touched him and made his world explode with a kiss a finger a whisper a suck and the violence underlying it a vision shaped in blood and terror and adrenaline swallowing back silence and screams the sound of determination to live and survive and trust that I will find him I am waiting for him the _Enterprise_ is safe he will return to me I will take care of his crew and if he survives for one more day it is a day closer to me and the frustration that he is alone that we are separated.

There is nothing easy or pleasant about sex.

Because in the process of Jim kissing biting sucking into my skin and leaving a trail of rage the chaos of his recollections amplified by emotions suppressed unacknowledged are my own emotions rising to the surface, the reciprocal anger that he has been pushing me away and now demands I give him sexual satisfaction in return the mirrored frustration of trust spoken but not given the hatred for the aliens who separated us when we promised without words but in actions and missions never to leave one another my own emotions suppressed the well of my patience running low and the feeling of helplessness that I do not know how to reach Jim and he does not know how to open himself to me so he reacts by attacking he falls back to something familiar and safe and something he can control and burning underneath it is my desire his desire to be bonded to always be touched and not touching in hearts and minds and bodies and thoughts and desires and dreams to know his fear to taste his sorrow to kiss his happiness to be close to be closer to be close to be joined to be to simply be the only thing to one another.

All of this mixed in bruises and fists, words ripped from each other's throats and gasps, his control my control slipping.

The bed remains untouched.

* * *

Jim is lying on top of me, his head on my chest. He is drowsy, but not asleep.

My arms are around him.

I feel him inhale and exhale, the faint beat of his heart against my skin. Jim does not radiate satisfaction or relief. Something has been resolved in him, but I do not know what that is. He has said nothing, nor have I. I do not have the energy to ask him once again to confide in me. His behavior, the divide that was somehow created in the time of our separation and distinct experiences, has taken a toll on us both. My meditative sessions have provided me little comfort in the face of the constant strain of worry. At the moment, I am spent physically, mentally, emotionally.

Later, I will find the energy and resolve to face this again. For both our sakes.

Right now, I hitch my arms around him tighter. He exhales, body molding against mine.

Lying on the floor.

Our bed remains untouched.


	223. Ch 223

We fight after every shift.

Karate, judo, boxing, hapkido, wrestling, with weapons, without weapons. Jim doesn't hold back, nor do I.

Latch onto his gi sweep the leg out dodge jerk his shoulder down keep balance avoid his attempt to throw me arms wrapped around lose balance fall he's on top of me I'm fending him off grabbing for the gi collar legs and arms tangled hooking around my neck finding a way to reverse the situation rolling over controlling his body he's struggling to get out of my grip twisting his elbow he snarls changes tactics and is kicking from the floor moving my body to avoid his heel crashing into me thrown off and always in the process our gis come undone to reveal the sheen of sweat, chests rising and falling getting up and circling around each other watching never taking eyes off each other.

Unspoken between us is the fact that his fighting style has changed. It's much more aggressive. When he holds me in a chokehold, it's meant to crush my windpipe. When he kicks, there's every intention of breaking my ribs. His punches come hard and fast and if I were Terran, I would be seriously injured. Jim has already caused more than a few broken bones among the security guards. I have taken to fighting with him because I can withstand the blows.

Unspoken between us is the fact that he has picked up some new techniques that no one has ever seen before. That even when he wears his gi, he hides a blade somewhere. The first time I overpowered him and had him in a hold, he drew out the razorblade and slashed into my arm. Everyone watching gaped, speechless while green poured from the slits and Jim stared, fixated by the sight. Leonard was furious with both myself and Jim. It was nothing that the dermal regenerator could not fix, but I have been more cautious ever since that time.

Sometimes there are flashes of images, full of confusion, adrenaline, fear, the stench of an arena. I have formed some hypotheses as to what Jim went through, but it is all speculation. He still says nothing of the experience, despite Leonard's threats to report him and declare him psychologically unfit for duty. He offered no explanation for carrying the blade, only kissed me hungrily and murmured apologies into my skin.

I made the decision to reintroduce chess into our matches. It is clear that fighting was an integral part of the time he spent with the aliens. However, introducing a familiar element might draw him away from their realm and bring him back to ours. When Jim is on the mats fighting against me, I can see that part of his mind thinks he is in a hostile environment. Since the introduction of chess, some of the edge has faded, though I never know if he is carrying the blade.

Jim plays aggressively. He has always been good at blitz chess, but his ability to strategize after prolonged periods of physical exertion is phenomenal. There were several matches when he absolutely routed me, mating me almost without effort.

And afterwards, there is always sex.

In the fresher, in our quarters, on the floor, against the wall. Rarely on the bed. In the Observation Deck, in storage closets. He is always careful about locked doors and ensuring that no one can ever find, see, hear us. Sex comes in different varieties. Sometimes it is slow, intimate, searching. Sometimes desperate, as though he cannot believe he's on the _Enterprise_ and that I am with him. Most of the time, he is still high on aggression and violence and it is almost an extension of our fights on the mats. I am covered in bites and bruises, as is he. Nyota has taught me how to mix and use make up to cover up the marks he leaves. Jim is particularly attentive to my neck and wrists.

He comes, he makes me come, in all varieties. Fast and hard, slow and tortured, begging, screaming, cursing, yelling. Scratching and hissing. The declarations between us are anything but kind and sometimes I find myself speaking in Vulcan.

"I love it when you do that," he whispered once. "Come on, do it again for me."

I find that I am inclined to oblige him.

I do not know what this does for Jim, but since we began fighting and fucking, he sleeps better. There have been fewer nightmares. His appetite has increased. His mask, though he always wears it, is not so brittle. He smiles, and it reaches his eyes. I climb into the bed with Jim and he wraps his arms around me. Sometimes he chats idly, talking about ship duties and I simply listen. Other times, he is exhausted and falls asleep almost immediately.

It is difficult, however, to be the anchor on which another relies for their sense of safety and normalcy. When I am not with Jim and my duties, I spend as much time as possible with the others. They seem to understand that I need an outlet. Leonard constantly asks me if Jim has told me anything—I think he cannot help but ask, as it worries him—but it grates on me, at times. Sometimes, Jim finds me practicing the lute with Nyota or in the company of Sulu and he demands—it is never spoken, but I know—that I leave them and go to him.

Rationally, I understand the cause of this demand. He is terrified of being alone, of finding himself without the _Enterprise_, he crew, or me. I can feel it in his nightmares. Understanding the reason does not, however, make this easier to bear.

He enjoys this. Enjoys the fact that only he fights one-on-one with me, that only he can bite into my skin, that only he can taste and touch me. He has always relished in the fact that he knows things about me that I will never share with anyone else, but this is different. There is an element of possession that had never been there before, and it makes me wonder what the aliens did that he latches onto that idea and finds it so powerful. When he was returned to us, he had been whipped. Was some form of slavery involved?

Patience. I want him to tell me, to allow me to see whatever it was that he went through but he says nothing. I am left with nothing but frustration, exhaustion, worry. The desire to help and the desire for his trust. I will stand by him always, but it is difficult. I will admit that there are days when I want to withdraw altogether, excellent sex notwithstanding.

Because sex is not enough. I want _Jim_, body and soul, healed and smiling. I want the light in his eyes, I want his laughter. He is not broken—what the alien said is true. But I want this fear that hounds him to be lifted. I want nothing more than to be inside his mind again.

If I cannot reassure him in words, then I must do it in actions. There is little else I can do, except resolve to get through another shift and stand beside him.


	224. Ch 224

"Lt. Chekov."

"Keptan?"

"What's this?"

"It is my report, sir."

"I thought I assigned you to the team handling the report about ion storms."

"You reassigned me to Sulu's team when you received new missions from the Admiral. That is my report on recent pergium demands and mining technology."

"When did I ask you for something like this? Shouldn't the economist be researching this shit?"

"That report is containing supplemental findings to Sulu's report, sir. You did not ask for it, but we thought it would be good to haf."

"Why the hell would having an extra report for me to wade through be a good idea?"

"Captain," I stepped forward.

"No, I don't have time for this shit. Don't give me extra stuff when I've already got a fucking backlog of fourteen reports that I'm supposed to write and turn in to One—"

Everyone on the bridge tensed.

"And I don't even know why the hell Starfleet asks me to file so many of the fucking things in the first place—I seriously doubt they fucking read it all—"

"Captain," I said, voice insistent.

It does nothing for morale for the crew to see the captain thus.

He glared at me.

"There is a matter of some urgency I must discuss with you, concerning these upcoming missions."

He stayed still. For a moment, I thought he was going to attack me.

Instead, he went to the turbolift. I followed after him.

"Jung, you've got the conn. Don't even think about doing anything while I'm gone."

"Understood, sir."

Jim did not look at me while we were in the turbolift, only stared moodily at the doors. We went to his quarters.

"What do you want."

"Your conduct on the bridge was unnecessary. Pavel did not deserve a reprimand when he was simply fulfilling his duty and attempting to facilitate in the successful execution of the upcoming mission."

"They already know that I don't do supplemental reports and if it's that fucking important, put it in the original."

"It was a minor misunderstanding and did not warrant your tirade in front of the other officers."

"Tirade? What, I'm not allowed to have an opinion now?"

"You are the captain—"

"Fuck that. Fuck. that. shit. I'm fucking human and that wasn't a misunderstanding, it was incompetence. We've been out in space for how long, now? Want to remind me?"

"It was not incompetence on his part, and it was not necessary for you—"

"Stop. Just, stop. I said one or two things on the bridge that fine, maybe I should've kept my mouth shut, but you dragged me off to grill me on this? You said that I'm overreacting—what the fuck about you?"

"This is not the first time that such a discussion has led to a larger conflict. You have established a pattern of finding insignificant flaws or errors and blowing them out of proportion. The crew have noticed this and my 'dragging you off' was an attempt to minimize the damage and prevent another such explosion on your part."

"Gee, I sound like I'm fucking emotionally compromised. Thanks Spock. Thanks a lot. I would have never fucking known."

I wanted to lash out, but I reined myself in.

"Jim, this argument is petty."

"Tell me something new. You're the one who started it."

"You are the one who refuses to tell anyone about your experience during the time you disappeared. You refuse to receive any psychological counseling to deal with the matter and it is affecting your ability to command, captain. It is affecting your friendships with those around you, and it is affecting our relationship."

"You want to say something? Why don't you just come out and say it?"

"I believe I am doing so at this moment. I am tired Jim. I am tired of this, I am tired of your silence. I have restrained myself from pressing you for an account, I have endured your irrational outbursts of anger. Your mood changes unpredictably and it is exhausting. One moment, you expect me to comfort you without demands, then you push me away and use me—my mind, my body—to pour out your emotional frustration.

"I love you and I will stand by you, but you do not trust me and that knowledge makes me question whether I desire to remain in this relationship."

Jim stood, eyes wide and face shadowed.

"I have given you everything I can give. I have offered all of myself, and I find myself wondering if that is enough to keep us together. At this moment, there has been nothing satisfying about our time together."

"So that's how it is," he whispered.

"You do not trust me. You have built impenetrable walls around yourself."

"You're breaking up with me."

I fisted my hands, then relaxed.

"I am not breaking up with you. I promised you that I would stand by you."

Silence.

"I will never leave you, Jim. But the fact remains that something happened while you were alone so as to change you drastically. You will not allow yourself to think of it, you keep this secret to yourself so tightly that it is strangling you."

Jim's body was tense. It was painful to see.

I went to him and held him. He was still holding himself, as though he would shatter if he let go.

Perhaps he would. But can't he see that I am here? That the _Enterprise_ is here, and whatever is broken can be rebuilt?

"This silence is strangling us, and I cannot bear that thought."

He put his arms around me.

"What do you want me to do? I don't know what to do, Spock. I don't know what to do."

"You said once that you trust me," I felt him relax slightly. "You said once that you always have, and always will, trust me. Do you trust me in this?"

"I was alone, Spock. You weren't there. You didn't have to—the things I did—the person I was—it's just easier to keep going forward. I don't care what the fucking books say, it's easier not to remember."

"Jim, whatever happened, it is past. It is over. Your memories are recollections. You are with the _Enterprise_, and it is safe to remember here."

"I hate going back. I hate it. I hate the feelings washing up again."

"It is necessary to deal with one's emotions. One cannot suppress them indefinitely—they only return in a changed and amplified form."

"I hate going back. It feels like I'm back there."

"You are here. With me and others who care for you. Whatever emotions you feel, they cannot be as terrible as the original experience."

"Yes they can," he whispered. "Yes they can."

_I was alone_.

"You are not alone now. I will never leave you."

_You weren't there_.

"I am here now."

_You said you're tired of me_.

"I am tired of the silence."

_I push you away. I use you. I fuck you_.

"As long as you return to me."

_I don't need anyone. I don't need anyone. I was alone_.

"You have been alone for most of your life, but lives change. I am here now, and I will never leave you."

_How can you know_? _How can you know you won't change_? _How can you know you won't die_?

"I do not know. But I am here now."

_Promise me, Spock. Promise me_.

"What would you like me to promise Jim?"

_I don't know. I don't know_.

He relaxed a little more.

_Say it. I need to hear it out loud_.

A brief flash of memory of his mother tucking him in and saying goodnight, brushing his hair aside and turning out the lights.

_And I'll apologize to Chekov later_.

"I love you," I murmured into his ear, held him close. "I love you."

Silence broken.

Jim held onto me as he shattered into a thousand pieces.

"Do you trust me, Jim?"

His gripped me tighter, impossibly close.

"Do you trust me?"

Shattering and gasping, broken sobs and a lifeline. Secrets breaking inside and walls crumbling, almost bringing him to his knees. He's been holding so much inside himself, that the crash is an avalanche, a landslide and tectonic shift.

"I trust you. I always have, and always will."


	225. Ch 225

He is exhausted. I am exhausted. I do not hold it against him that he has avoided the emotions associated with traumatic memories. It is amazing that he has survived to this point without developing some major psychosis.

Jim sleeps while I am on the bridge. After that conversation, he was drained. I was drained. But Nyota is getting some much needed sleep and time with Scotty, Sulu is in Sickbay going through physical therapy, and there is actual need for me to be on the bridge. We are coming upon the ion storm, and while there should be no problems navigating and charting the phenomenon, I am loath to have a junior officer in command during such a situation.

I asked Dr. McCoy to provide some stimulant. He yelled at me as Christine scolded him and injected me, an understanding look in her eyes. Sometimes I believe that Christine Chapel is the only sane individual on this ship. I do not know how she manages the stresses, particularly the stress of dealing with Leonard when he is particularly irate and irrational, yoga notwithstanding.

I had not intended to force Jim's hand in that manner. But I find I cannot regret it. It is a relief. I am not sure how much more the crew could have borne, despite Jim's charade and pretense of normality. The extent to which his mood and our interactions have come to set the tone of the ship is somewhat disconcerting. If the crew were less emotionally invested in his well being, it would be much easier to run the ship. It has been my observation, however, that being emotionally indifferent to the captain is impossible. Everyone reacts to him—it seems to be written into his being.

I am no exception. I find myself saying things, doing things, bearing things, that I would never say or do or bear, for this man. How is it possible that he can set forth so many changes in me, simply by existing. Jim need not do anything but breath, and he would still induce some response from me, be it exasperation or fondness or amusement.

He is not broken. He is asleep. So many of our crew have been hurt, yet we must continue our mission. We deal with everything by whatever means we can, shifting the collective weight of emotional stress around the group to those who are most able to carry it. It is exhausting. Jim's disappearance and silence have only made us that much more aware of how much we rely on him, not only as a leader but as the foundation of our confidence. He has somehow always been able to defuse tense situations with a careless joke, a wide smile. It was his idea to organize the talent show and after party as a means or relieving the accumulated stress of the year. He organized the wheelchair basketball for Sulu, he still makes regular rounds with the crew to listen to their concerns. Now—

These past shifts, it has been as Nyota says—_la kuvunda halina rubani_. A vessel running aground has no captain. I feel, everyone has felt, the ship running aground, because the _Enterprise_ needs her captain.

He trusts me but he does not know what to do. I am not sure that I know what to do. I am not sure what that trust means—does it mean the full disclosure of the events that transpired while he was alone? What does it mean to remember? Will it be in a meld? Will it be a matter of revisiting the past, falling into the neutron stars and experiencing everything again? Will he choose instead to tell me, vocalize and organize the events through a narrative? In remembering, does it mean that he and I will go through the emotions of that moment, or emotions of the aftermath? Will he choose to distance himself again by looking at them without the emotional content?

When he says that he does not want to go back, what does it mean? Is he totally immersed in the memory of the experience, or do the emotions feel amplified and uncontrolled? What does it mean to remember trauma? Why is it necessary to remember it at all? He has done well up until this point by willfully forgetting. Why does it fail him now?

Enough. We will cross that bridge when we get there. It does me no good to consider those questions here. I will find no answers. Perhaps there are none.

He is exhausted. I am exhausted. Jim sleeps while I am on the bridge. I deal with everything by whatever means I can, shifting the weight of emotional stress away to deal with at another time.

For now, I must attend to my duties and wait.


	226. Ch 226

"I'm tired of this," he said into my skin. "I don't know how to fix it."

We were lying in bed.

"I'm fucking tired of this. I don't mean to be a prick."

"I do not blame you, Jim."

"I want to go back to how we were before all this shit happened."

I kissed him.

"I want to back to New York. It wouldn't have been so bad, Spock. You and me, an apartment. None of _this_ between us."

"How long were you alone?" I touched the curve of his eyebrow.

"I have no idea. It felt like weeks. They didn't have night or day, or any way to measure time. It felt like forever. Or one long day."

"Were the beings incorporeal? What happened?"

"I don't know. I never got to talk to them face to face, if they have faces at all. Mostly screamed at them until I found myself on the _Enterprise_."

I drew him closer to me.

"Meld with me," he breathed. "I'll show you everything. Fucking everything. I want you to know. I want you to see."

My breath caught.

"It will take some time."

"I don't care. We'll take the shifts off, give command to Sulu and Nyota. I'll tell Bones not to bother us."

He looked at me, blue eyes blazing.

"I never want to be that fucking alone again, Spock."

I took his hand in mine.

"Meld with me," he whispered. "I'll show you everything. I'm yours, Spock. I'm fucking yours."

* * *

the gnaw of hunger the exhaustion and stress, sitting in a corner eyeing the others knife hidden safe and secure. they don't leave him alone, even after the first and second and third and fourth times. they just keep coming with their friends and friends' friends and enemies' enemies because that's how it works. kill someone and the bloodshed never stops. but not killing is not an option. so kill and kill. doesn't think about never wanting to or the morality of it, right now the first rule is survival. do anything to survive, live another day, get the fuck out of this warped hole.

where is Spock? where's the _Enterprise_? they've got to be searching, they've got to know. where the hell is Spock?

the killing isn't totally useless. it's practice for the Games. it's gotten him some allies, pacts made in spit and blood to protect each other because my enemy's enemy is my friend. he's killed a lot of enemies. they think just because he's human and new and young he'll go easy. some of them were recently acquired and they know about Spock. they think because he's a faggot he'll take it. fuck them. fuck them.

he's never been so satisfied with killing someone as the time when that fucking Cardassian tried to pin him and he just sliced him open. the bastard was dead before he even knew it. that was Jim's third kill. he's always been a light sleeper, it's a good trait to have. sliced the Cardassian open right in that sweet spot under his chin and everyone thought he was taking comparative xenobiology to learn about alien g-spots. they don't fucking know Jim Kirk.

one of the things they teach you at Starfleet is how to count the time to ground yourself and keep track of things. but tracking time is useless here because there's no rising and falling of any sun, only bright light and the days measured by Games. games and games and games and the thralls shoving food through a gate, prison cells bolted and secure. he learned a long time ago that the first priority isn't escape, but protecting yourself. escape comes later, after learning the patterns of the guards and planning schemes, bartering information and gaining allies. the first priority is never leave your back exposed because someone _will_ kill you because you're the new guy, young and inexperienced. baby those blue eyes are too blue to know anything about how the world works and fuck off, he's seen plenty through these blue eyes.

memory shatters. every single time. he's not an idiot, he read a few books about the basics of psychology and this is typical in humans. memory shattering and he can't remember if he killed the Cardassian four games ago or sixteen. no, it was sixteen games ago because the fifteenth game was when he faced Halbfinger and that motherfucker almost broke his legs trapping him in that net. he sprained something, probably. the thrall did something that made the injury go away, but not the pain. it was sixteen games ago because right afterwards, the seventeenth game was when he lost it and fucking slaughtered the guy, tore him apart.

where is Spock? where the hell is Bones when he needs him? where is Spock? they've got to be searching for him, but how would they find him? as far as he can tell, this is a self-contained facility with no end. it might even be underground or in an asteroid. everything's reproduced to mimic the surface of some planet, but somehow they all know that this isn't the outdoors, and there's mad cabin fever. mad cabin fever in the form of bloody fights between rivaling factions and shanking people in the showers.

never never never fucking leave your back exposed.

it's some kind of system but fuck if there's a pattern to it that he can see. sometimes he's led to a cell. a cell built theoretically for one person, though you could fit three if you wanted. sometimes they do. the single cells give a false sense of security because, and he's seen it happen, you finally think you can sleep without getting knifed when the thrall comes in and has some quality one on one time doing whatever the fuck they want. he lucked out. his thrall isn't a nice guy, but he's not out to get him. yet.

sometimes he's led to a cell but most of the time it's in the pits, friends' friends and enemies' enemies roaming around freely. he doesn't know why they're all trying to kill each other when they already do that during the Games. it goes back to some feud that got started a long time ago and he wants no part of it, doesn't care about clan X and group Y shedding blood because gang Z killed off their leader or whatever. he doesn't want to get dragged into this when all he's doing is surviving and waiting for Spock to find him but my brother's enemy is my friend, and he's really fucking tired. he could use some sleep. that's probably why in the end, they all get divvied up, because they want to sleep.

and then there are the Games.

he's a pretty good fighter. has to be, if he's captain and all that shit. knows his katas, practices form, he's worked with weapons, the security guys do a good job making sure he stays in shape. even took up a couple of rounds of fencing with Sulu, since wielding a sword's come in handy more than a few times. swords, in an age of phasers. what the fuck.

they give him a fucking sword. that was after they stripped him down and the thralls pinched and poked him to see his muscle tone and what he was good at, they attacked him out of the fucking blue to see his fighting style and reflexes and made various grunts of approval. he remembers stuff in xenolinguistics. people always thought that Jim Kirk was a fucking airhead know it all jackass player whore nice guy whatever the fuck they wanted. they thought it was stupid that he didn't remember what the Klingon holidays were and their different salutes, but he thought they were fucking retarded for thinking that shit mattered in the first place. he remembers what the Klingon for "get on your knees" is and that's all that matters.

he's always had different priorities. the priority right now is to learn how to use this rusted sword they throw at him how to wear the armor to his advantage and his thrall is quiet but teaches him useful stuff. he thinks he might be able to work with this guy but after two years of learning diplomacy and watching Spock and Uhura wrangle treaties has taught him something. he needs to be patient and hold out for the _Enterprise_.

people always thought that he was flirty happy go lucky bounces back from everything made of teflon and Bones even said that to him. the truth is that you don't go through something like Tarsus without being fundamentally changed and things looking completely different. you don't hear your stepfather and mother tell you to get the fuck out of the house you don't run through the darkness with your heart in your throat and come out of that experience unchanged. he never felt so fucking scared and helpless in his life and he's got no idea how he pulled through, how he survived and sometimes he wonders if he survived only because he found Tiff later and they promised each other not in words but in hiding that they'd make it that they'd keep doing whatever it was they were doing.

you don't go through shit like that without realizing that you're alone. that no one cares about anything but themselves and when fucking push comes to shove the guy in the grain silo would rather try to kill you than share with some half-starved teenagers you see the true face of people and that makes you promise yourself to always be prepared always be fucking prepared.

it's frighteningly easy to go back to his old mentality to that mode where it was all about get to the next day and the next and the next, the mindset he used as emotional armor or something that every psychologist would say it's frighteningly easy to go back despite the fact that he's got the _Enterprise_ and Spock but Spock's not here and the _Enterprise_ isn't here and he's got no friends no one to take care of but himself and it occurs to him that maybe the _Enterprise_ is in another compound exactly like this one and theories and ideas are about to spin out of control when he clamps down. stops.

he's alone. he's fucking alone without a friend or brother or lover and there's only the gnaw of exhaustion and the Games, the fact that there are no friends here not like the friends he has on the _Enterprise_ there are only allies and enemies and enemies' enemies. but he needs fucking sleep if he's going to survive the Games and he's got to believe that Spock's searching for him because Spock made a vow a promise never with words but he's always known. Spock looks at him and he knows that he is Spock's and Spock is his and that's about the only thing keeping him sane right now the only thing slowly driving him insane and seriously messing with him because Spock's not there.

memory shatters and he can't tell if it was the ninth Game or the twentieth when he almost died because the match was going on for fucking ever and he was dehydrated tired sweating and shivering and feverish but the other guy seemed to have stamina like a fucking bull he was built like a bull and he can't remember what happened afterwards if the cry that emanated from him as he got sloppy and just decided to charge was of despair or a final throw in to victory.

it's so confusing and disorienting he can't orient himself despite the training he was able to perfectly orient himself and stay focused while he was there when he was in it but in this his mind the space of memory reliving it everything is helter skelter like the chaos of a planetary nebula and he remembers when Scotty took catnaps because he catnapped and trained obsessively and was glad there were no mirrors because he would be grey with grime despite the showers where people were shanked regularly.

he does and doesn't remember how he gained some sort of understanding with his enemies' enemies and he wonders if they were looking to him as some sort of light to guide them out of the hole if this whole thing was a test to see if he was worthy and he hates those fucking tests like the _Kobayashi Maru_ what the fuck more does he need to prove what the fuck more do they want from him. someone tried to kill him while he was standing under the rusty water but one of the enemies' enemies gave him a heads up and he was able to grab his blade like a lifeline and kill them before they touched him.

the reason why he never got along in the foster homes was because he'd seen the face of people stripped away and he thought with every single one of them even though they were decent people that on Tarsus they would never think of adopting him giving him food protecting him they would sooner kill him and have a barbeque than help him and you don't go away from that kind of environment without your sense of trust warped and he always had a problem with authority anyway.

so many people wanted to fix him so many people wanted to show him goodness and pureness or something give him happiness but he thought they were all masks endless masks. but something must have stayed alive in him some kind of hope or some remembrance of his mother's love of his father's love sacrificing himself not so that everyone on the _Kelvin_ could get away but so that his mother so that _he_ could get away and have a chance to live and breathe and see the wonder of the universe something of that optimism must have stayed in him and something of Mark's patience and kindness a stepfather willing to take him on and treat him like his own son put up with all his crap must have stayed with him that he was willing to give things another chance.

and when Pike was giving him a lecture about how pathetic he was and how George Kirk did this and saved people and he was flying the ship through the imaginary space, he was remembering in the back of his mind through the beer haze and the headache building the noseblood trickling down his throat he was remembering his father and Tarsus his mother and the _Kelvin_ his stepfather and the brief faint glow of his childhood before everything shattered and he had no memory but the dark masks of people.

he's in another hell hole and Spock isn't there and everyone's looking out for themselves they all dread and love the Games they kill their thralls they fuck each other they steal food and there's mad cabin fever. new guys come and go, old guys die and become thralls, and they have no idea what the fuck this is all about except that thralls have orders and they are marked and some say that there were bets that this was all being recorded somewhere and others think it's just hell. he's been in hell before. this comes pretty close to all the other hells he's been in.

no one knows what makes him tick not even himself but after his twenty third or was it his nineteenth Game he puts his enemies' enemies to use. he has plans. he has information. he always observes and notices—between Spock and Giotto, he's got that down—and he's got plans for a prison break. no idea where to go, no idea when, but it will send a message because they all know with the uncanny knowledge of all beings that someone's watching them. no idea if it's for science or entertainment and he doesn't care, but he gathers his self made clan, you stay in the Games long enough everyone dies anyway and he's been around long enough to be high up and he's got a bunch of kills on him and they respect him for that and for being a Starfleet captain and the one thing he does best without knowing he's doing it is getting people to believe in him.

because something must have survived or maybe it's part of him written into his blood and bones like the rising and falling of the sun on Earth but he doesn't give up. doesn't give up even though he's alone and Spock's not there doesn't give up doesn't give up it's unacceptable. something must have survived despite the fact that for so many years he was twisted and gnarled more fucked up than anyone he's ever met he found some way to be friends with Bones found the balls to take up Pike on his offer not because he wanted to outdo his father but because he's got something to prove to himself. he's lived with the vision of the masks of people and he had considered Starfleet before but it wasn't until he got in that barfight when four guys ganged up on him that he knew people are people Starfleet's flawed and doesn't get rid of the evil inside intelligence like they pretend to do with their promos about interspecies diversity. cupcake had as much to do with him joining up as Pike, he knows this though he's not sure why.

he's got a plan like he's always got a plan, impetuous and he pretends that Spock's here and he thinks of what Spock would say and what he would do because even though Spock's not there he has someone to go home to now. he's got a legitimate reason to keep going and this is something he's never had before, this is a new feeling and he doesn't think about how he's changed all the creatures he's killed just to go back to Spock. he doesn't think about consequences and emotions doesn't think about how Spock might not recognize this man who kills without hesitation who slips easily into a calculating bastard.

in the process of survival he does things that he's not proud of because that Machiavellian side that appeared during the transporter accident is in full play right now glorying in the experience the taste of murder and he's saving the other side hiding him and suppressing him for Spock. Spock who brings out the goodness in him, Spock who changed and transformed him. Spock who believes in him and he doesn't think about whether or not Spock will still love him after all this is over. after he shows him all the disgusting things he's done to survive. he doesn't regret it and never will regret staying alive. he regrets how much satisfaction he got out of killing people though.

people think he's a saint and savior and he's not. he's only as good as the circumstances around him the people who support him. the people who support him here are warped and scared and looking out for themselves and they only look to him because they think he's got a plan they think he can break them out. he's become Karidian in his power over this prison he's become Karidian because he's considering killing anyone who doesn't join this growing posse and that would send a fucking message. they can stop the Games by refusing to play but the Game isn't rigged just that way because for all they know whoever's watching only has to turn off a switch and they'll die for lack of air. or they might stop sending food.

food is the first and last thing on everyone's mind. he doesn't remember everything because the memory of the fight is mixed with memories of other fights on other planets with Spock by his side but he remembers things like the diagram they drew of what they think the compound is like, the weapons they amassed, the food they saved up for the great escape, the intense code they developed, the information they gathered. he doesn't remember faces so well because they were constantly changing as Games went on people were replaced.

sometimes all it takes is one person to make the difference and he's never believed that. he's never put stock in that because if he could make a difference he'd go back and change things but he's never one to look back never one to process the past always looking forward always looking past the darkness behind the masks of people the pointlessness the petty evil the indifference they all have and he knows he's got that same darkness in him too. you don't leave from a place like Tarsus without knowing your own capability and the price of your survival.

but something must've survived because he's made all the difference in the world to so many people and so many planets and beings and wars stopped and he should be cynical after all he's seen he should be in a bar bitching about the hard knocks of life but here he is instead organizing a prison revolt and he doesn't think about shoulds and coulds only they press on him sometimes the expectations and voices of a Federation the past voices of families who tried to fix him but they just couldn't because he wouldn't let them come near him.

there's a timing for everything he's beginning to see, a timing for diplomacy and war, for science and theory, for trust and traitors. he's beginning to see how losing Vulcan split him open, not just Spock, and he's not sure how but becoming captain after seeing something like that becoming captain after using the Red Matter and understanding the true meaning of power, staring at the face of madness but still finding himself offering Nero a chance to live he has no idea where that came from and the rationale he gave Spock was bullshit and he's never been good at analyzing emotions or knowing what the fuck is going on in his brain, but there's a timing and a growth, if he lets it happen.

he's got Spock to go home to. he never thought he would have a home or anyone again, but he does and he's planning a prison break recruiting thralls setting the timing and there are some motherfuckers who just like fighting so they try to kill him but he's always alert. doesn't mess up. can't afford to mess up because he found a home and he found Spock and he's going back to them.

where is Spock and why isn't he here with him?

and when he's successful and everything goes in planned chaos, he finds himself facing the fucking makers of this system of killing and cabin fever. he finds himself kneeling in agony as they materialize a body and it's Spock and he's lifeless. they say it's his punishment for being so audacious and some alien whips him flays his back open for shits and giggles. he doesn't care because it's the body of Spock in front of him and his heart is breaking. shattering.

when he wakes up he's in Sickbay, Bones yelling for people to clear away and he doesn't remember anything anymore.


	227. Ch 227

I remember when Leonard called me down to Sickbay, telling me that Jim was frantic to see me.

I ran.

Leonard almost put Jim in restraints and was preparing a hypospray of sedative, he was about to tear out of his biobed to find me and make certain that I was alive.

I remember his stillness when he saw me. His eyes looking over me. He made no move towards me, he said nothing. Only looked at me.

I went to him and carefully took his hand in mine. Leonard stepped away to give us privacy. Jim lightly touched my fingers, tracing along the joints. Then suddenly grabbed my hand, grip almost painful. I noticed the scars that marked his hands, the way they were raw and veined. I felt the calluses on his palms, the blisters between his fingers, the deep cuts on his knuckles. The way that his hand shook slightly. I raised his hand, bent my head, kissed each finger that was holding mine with a desperation that he did not express on his face except the overbright sheen in his eyes.

I remember he squeezed his eyes shut briefly before opening them again. I put my free hand to his face and he leaned into that touch, closing his eyes again. I remember kissing him. From my perspective, we had seen one another just the other shift, but from his perspective, he had not seen me for at least three weeks, if not more.

That was the last time he let me touch him. After Leonard released him from Sickbay, Jim imposed the ban on touch.

"Do you—" he curled around me. "Do you get it? I didn't mean—"

I pulled him closer to me.

"I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to fix it."

"You are not broken, Jim. It is not a matter of fixing yourself."

"You still—I killed all those guys—some of them I didn't even need to—"

"I regret that you were put in that position at all."

"But you still—? I cut you. I used you. After all you saw?"

_Do you doubt me, t'hy'la_?

_No_. _But_...

"I need to hear you say it."

He looked away.

That one sentence cost him more than I can know.

I brushed my fingers along his psi points, pressing kisses into his skin. He slowly turned his head to face me again.

Blue eyes with an entire world behind them.

"I love you."

He closed his eyes.

"I love you now, and I always will. I can give you that promise."

His entire body tensed.

"You are my captain. I will follow you to whatever end."

Thoughts long understood but never spoken. The power of words exchanged, a confirmation of what he already knows but is not sure he truly feels.

"You are my captain and that will never change."

The insufficiency of words to express what is between us, the inability to convey the depth of my devotion to him. Words are paltry, but he needs to hear them.

"Only a captain?" he whispered.

How can I set forth a definition for this man? How can I encapsulate who he is in a single word, a few phrases, perhaps some adjectives. Even Vulcan falls short. T'hy'la is not sufficient, not when he is asking me to ground him.

"I knew who I was, Spock. I knew exactly who I was before you came along. Before the _Enterprise_ happened."

He knew his boundaries just as I knew mine, he kept himself bordered even after we made love. Partitioned off regions in his mind that he would not show to me, that he refused to revisit himself.

"I could do it. I could be alone. I didn't fucking care. You changed that."

He didn't know, and perhaps still doesn't know, whether he loves me or hates me for it. He trusts me more than any other, he is willing to do anything for me and the thought has always terrified him. Because he remembers what he has done to survive, he knows what he is made of, what his hands are capable of doing.

"You're part of me now."

And some dark corner of his mind whispers that he gave compassion to Nero because he could see himself in the Romulan. Some part of him thinks that he might go crazy if he ever truly lost me—

"No. That is not who you are."

This doubt is unlike him. But one does not go through the experience of the Games without questioning the mirror image of oneself. The tactics he used to kill some of his opponents were truly gruesome. He had no qualms about using them.

"How do you know? How do you know?"

The answer is simple.

"Because I have seen."

_You granted me full access and I have seen_.

"People change."

"Some things will always remain the same. Of this, I have no doubt."

Flashes of memory, images of his youth and teenage years. Sometimes he doesn't recognize himself. Images of Vulcan, of New York, of times before decisions were placed on his shoulders and he chose to act, to accept that responsibility without complaint.

_I've changed so much._

"As have I."

Everyone on board this ship has been transformed in some way, forced to evolve and adapt to the circumstances with each mission.

"Perhaps the most telling indicator that I have changed is that I love you."

He smiled.

"That wasn't funny."

"It is true."

Someday, I will show him. Someday, or over many days, I will show him exactly the ways in which he challenged me and made me question myself. For now, I hold him.

"Say it again," he whispered. "Tell me again."

_Tell me that this is real, that I'm with you, that you'll never leave me. Promise me, Spock. Promise me you'll never leave me._

_I will never leave you_.

"I will always love you."

_Vulcans never lie. Vulcans never lie._

_I have lied for you. But I will never lie to you._

The _Enteprise_ flying through the black of space.

_I would kill for you, I would lie for you, I would die for you. I will live for you and I will always love you_.

_Kiss me._

I did.

_Kiss me, mind to mind. I want you here, in my thoughts. I want you._

"I never want to be alone, without you, ever again. I'm yours, Spock. I'm fucking yours."

"My mind to your mind."

_My thoughts to your thoughts._


	228. Ch 228

"I've got to hand it to you. He looks a lot better."

Leonard raised his glass to me and I raised mine to him. He sipped his brandy and I my port.

"You look a little worn around the edges, though," he said, putting the glass down.

"It has been a trying ordeal."

"The worst feels like it's over."

I nodded.

"He has agreed to take the evaluation, and perhaps engage in a few psychotherapy sessions with M'Benga."

"Yeah, he told me. If I didn't know better, I'd think that you're a goddamn miracle worker."

"Having touch telepathic abilities has certain advantages."

"You two've been communicating mind to mind a lot?"

"The frequency of our melds has increased."

"Are there any side effects to that I should know about? Are you going to start acting like each other or something?"

"Negative. I was under the impression that you had studied the nature of telepathy in medical school, doctor."

"I'm a surgeon, not a psychiatrist. And don't give me a lecture, just say yes or no."

"I do not anticipate any side effects. It is difficult for touch telepaths to maintain a permanent connection without physical contact. Thus the name and its classification."

"You can build up a tolerance for each other, can't you?"

"We are accustomed to the other's presence in our mind, but that does not imply the formation of a link."

Leonard nodded.

"I might do some more reading on it."

"M'Benga is very familiar with the topic and I am certain he would be able to provide you with recommendations for standard texts."

"Spock, I'm the CMO, not an idiot. I know where to look."

"Really, doctor? I would never have surmised that fact."

"Very clever, you're a barrel of Vulcan laughs. Don't distract me," he pointed at me. "How are you?"

"I am fine."

"Don't give me that line, Spock, or I'll pull one of your 'fine has variable meanings' speeches. They're damned good ones."

"It seems you are not beyond hope, doctor. You are attempting to use my own logic against me."

"I'm not converting to your superior logical Vulcan ways, you green-blooded gremlin—"

I raised an eyebrow.

"—I got tired of saying hobgoblin all the time. Standard's got some mighty fine words to describe your infernal ilk—"

"You are waxing quite poetic."

"I'm using logic because that's one of the only damn things that works on you. Just like how you're using emotional hedging right now to avoid my questions."

"I am not hedging anything—"

"I think I've won my argument," Leonard leaned forward. "Listen, Spock. We've been watching you. We've been watching Jim, and we've been watching you. This hasn't been easy on anyone—especially you. Managing him when he was hellishly emotionally confused—I don't think anyone could've done better. But I want to know how you've been. You've got emotional needs too, and Jim can't fill them right now."

A pause.

"He is happy."

"And what about you? Honestly."

"I am relieved. M'Benga is a capable doctor."

"He's really going to do it? I've never seen Jim go to therapy quietly."

"We discussed the matter."

"...And?"

"I explained my reasoning to him. We agreed that it is unwise to go through all his memories and past traumas at this juncture, but that it is necessary for him to consider developing another strategy for managing the brute force of the emotions and experience. As I am half Vulcan and process events in a manner distinct from his, I am not suited to help him navigate that particular skill. Thus the session with M'Benga."

"It'll take a load off you too."

"I do not consider him to be a burden."

"That's not how I meant it. But I know it's hard for one person to carry the emotional baggage of another person, especially when you've got plenty of things to worry about on your own."

"We have managed to come this far."

"That doesn't mean things can't be managed better, in a way that's healthier for both of you."

"Leonard, for someone who insists that he is neither a psychologist nor a psychiatrist, you are quite insistent on your expertise in humanoid psychology."

"I'm a man made of emotion. I never pretended to be anything different."

I raised my glass.

"As you often say, 'I can drink to that.'"

He laughed, raised his glass and we drank.

At that moment, Christine walked in, carrying a stack of datapads and what appeared to be lab samples.

"And you say you're not half brothers," she smiled.

I raised my eyebrow and Leonard gave her a look of exasperation.

"Someday, I'm going to go find a goddamn genealogist and have them trace back every single one of my ancestors in the McCoy clan. Then I'll come back with _proof_ that we're not related. I've got _no_ Vulcan roots."

"It's not your family you need to look at, Len, it's Spock's. For all you know, Amanda Grayson could be the daughter of your great grandfather's cousin's son by his third wife. Family trees are convoluted."

Leonard glared.

"Y'all came in because you wanted to show me something?" he pointed to the stack.

Christine nodded, pulling up a file on one of the datapads.

"Leonard, Christine, if you'll excuse me."

"Join us in the mess later for dinner, if you lovebirds feel up to it."

"We will be there."


	229. Ch 229

Memory shatters every single time and one memory of killing is mixed in with every other and he never tries to process the feelings never tries to think of what happened only moves on moves forward until the experience repeats itself and suddenly he remembers every face he's ever killed but no names suddenly the mask of himself is ripped away and underneath blue eyes and a mirror is the face of Kodos and Nero and the Romulan crushing his throat underneath a wide smile is a vacuous expression a deceit a person who was never great never able to rise above a madman responsible for the death of a city a killer who's enjoyed the thrill of driving a sword discharging a phaser and when he's inside that neutron star he can't remember anything else when he's immersed in the experience and covered in the malice of his own emotion he can't see past masks and empty blue eyes cold and calculating.

This is why he never goes back. This is why he never wants to go back because who wants to face the abyss inside themselves? Who wants to admit that deep down, they're no better than anyone else, that perhaps they're worse than anyone else. He remembers facing that ugly side in the transporter accident and he remembers wishing so clearly that he had never seen this Jim yet knowing him so clearly. In the passage of life and time and circumstances he's tried to become a better man he's tried to earn this captaincy and the fact that his father mother stepfather sacrificed themselves to give him a chance. He's tried to earn that despite the fact it's something that can never be repaid or bought back like a city lost to memory and history like so many people lost in the line of duty under his command his orders. It's a fine line that he walks every day and he does it mostly by ignoring the neutron stars that pierce the cloth of his memory.

But that's not possible anymore. And it's true. He's been using Spock Bones Sulu Nyota Chapel hell even Scotty and Chekov as emotional crutches releasing the tension little by little when the pressure gets too high but this shit with the Games was too fucking much. He lost all sense of time and sanity in the cabin fever in the killing he hasn't been the captain the crew needs him to be because he's hurting and he doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know what to do never knew what to do because after Tarsus he was covered in masks after Vulcan he was walking in the a haze after every mission where some kind of fantastic shit goes down he doesn't remember only works the emotion out of his skin through sweat and a punching bag. He learned early on to express emotions through his body and it's not surprising that he got into bar fights all the time it's not surprising that he'd take out his anger on strangers who knew just as much as he did about emptiness even if the kind of emptiness they had was about heartbreak or debt or whatever the fuck their hard knocks were.

He remembers every bar fight like he remembers every kill—when he's in them, he knows every face he's smashed he knows every bar he's trashed he knows the names of drinks he's had he knows that four five six guys are beating the crap out of him with a bar stool laid out flat on the pool table kicking and punching and thinking that this is great practice for he has no idea what it's great practice maybe for prison maybe for survival maybe for school and afterwards when the robocops come asking him his name he says it slurs it when the medics give him disgusted looks but patch him up anyway when the bartender tells him he owes this many credits when the judge puts his bail higher and higher because the charges are adding up and psychiatrists don't know what the fuck to do with him they try different programs they try drugs that he never takes they scan his brain and his foster parents are worried tired tried and everyone feels deficient and failing because they don't know what to do with him and he doesn't fucking know what to do with himself. All he sees are the masks of people and it haunts him. He doesn't know why things haunt him why he looks up at the sky searching for the black of space he doesn't know why he's fucked up like this even though they say he's a genius and he's never been much of a talker except a flirt but he feels like he can't talk can't trust can't see people. That ability went away when George met him at the shuttlebay after he came back from Tarsus and started screaming at him crying and trying to beat the shit out of him that he's a killer wherever he goes he kills people and their families and George told him he never wanted to see him again told him to stay away because he's a plague because everywhere he goes the blackness of space and the darkness of death follows him.

He's never forgotten that. And sometimes he thinks it's true, that he's the biggest mask of them all, that he brings destruction to everyone he loves and everything he touches and so it's better to fight and fuck and never admit to softer things. Watching Vulcan disappear was a nightmare. It felt like a nightmare. He felt like an emotional zombie afterwards. Like he should've known or he should've done something or he has no idea what the fuck he's talking about and as much as Spock was emotionally compromised, he was too. He's just a hell of a lot more used to being emotionally compromised and being a jackass about it because that's what he's been practically his entire life. A jackass a jackal a person never meant to survive the hunger and horror a person never meant to get out of juvie a person who never should have been shot to captain a person with the weirdest luck in the world. Because as much as he's been through some fucked up shit, he's had some amazingly lucky breaks. Sometimes he wonders if his life were a poker game, what kind of hands would he be dealt? Some of them line up beautifully and he bets high and wins big. Some of them are nothing but fuck and he gets through round after round after round of shit and mediocrity by lying through his teeth and smiling and being a jackass. Going directly from cadet to captain? That was one of those luck things. He's got no misconceptions about that.

The entirety of his first twenty years or so are full of neutron stars. He remembers there was a time when that wasn't true, happier times when he and mom and Mark were together and he actually had a sense of stability, of linearity. But he forgot that after they died because the memories turned sour and reminded him of something he didn't have could never have again despite the fact that the people who took him into their homes were genuinely nice people. Nice doesn't mean anything after Tarsus. Nice is a consolation prize when all he wants is the real thing his mother's hand on his forehead his stepfather's laughter and patience and Jim's been trying to forget them for so long that he's not sure he actually remembers anything real and true and personal of them anymore. When he saw Spock reaching out on the transporter pad for his mother reaching with that face devastated something inside him twisted but he pushed that away stuck it in another neutron star for another time another place. Death follows him wherever he goes and it doesn't make sense but sometimes he does feel responsible for the things that happened that were out of his control because he was young he was a teenager coming back from Tarsus without family and the first person he meets is his brother and they were never close but fuck George was screaming at him crying enraged face ravaged with grief and all the things the universe took away from them both hurting so bad that the only thing he knew how to do was hurt someone else. He was convenient and he was there and George was telling him he never wanted to see his face again because underneath those blue eyes was death itself and some part of him hurting and reaching for anything believed it.

It doesn't make sense but emotions never do. He has more sympathy for Spock than the Vulcan realizes. He wears more masks than anyone knows, perhaps even himself. But despite all that shit and his world shattering over and over and his memory torn to pieces and he doesn't kid himself, that sense of time is never going to come back, but in spite of all that something must have survived that he always picks himself up and keeps going, tries harder, takes risks. Lets himself hope. Maybe it's because he's young maybe it's because he's a fool maybe it's because he's human but that's something that's always been in him. Hope. Maybe it's because he was born as a hope, when his father went kamikaze into the _Narada_ he was doing it because he hoped his son would survive he hoped his son would live and thrive to whatever life he built. When his mother and stepfather protected him first and told him to get out of the house and run for his life they were doing it out of hope that he would escape the carnage to a better place they were doing it not because they thought he was worth it but because he was their son and that was the love of parents for their child. He was their hope and his mother would often come into his room and tell him how much she loved him the dreams she had for him of stars and adventures and hopes and of all the people he knew his mother was the one person he thought always kept hope alive. Maybe that's what survived from his childhood and was washed into him or maybe that's just the way things are but something burned in Jim and he was lucky that it burned long enough for him to get to a place where he could learn to trust people again.

He had been running from his memories and the masks of people for so long that he'd forgotten this gift that his parents left him. And when Pike gave him that lecture it wasn't the challenge that made Jim enlist but vague memories long suppressed but not forgotten the combination of the knowledge that Starfleet wasn't perfect like they wanted others to think they were and that here was a silver trinket that exploded in space because one man though it better to die and give a fighting chance that his wife and son live a mother and stepfather thought it better to give him a chance to get away than let him get consumed in darkness. He can work in imperfect systems. Pike made no attempt to apologize for his cadets' behavior because there was none. And he could admire that kind of honesty in a person. Pike had a look on his face of someone who'd seen crazy shit but was commanding a starship anyway. He could respect that. It wasn't that Pike could see through his bullshit—that wasn't that hard to do. But he could see why he was bullshitting in the first place. And that was something no one had ever really understood.

Starfleet pissed him off. It pissed him off because of its glossy exteriors and the masks that were everywhere again and he was lucky—it was another one of those moments when his cards had everything in them to get him through the next rounds—he was lucky that he found Bones. Bones is the most honest man he's ever known and the fact that the man was going through a helluva divorce, genuinely terrified of space, and sarcastic to the point of craziness gave him a window of sanity. He wanted to graduate in three years not just because he had something to prove but because he couldn't get away from the polished shine of buildings like mirrors fast enough.

And Spock. When Spock had the gall to talk to him about fear. About certain death and the conduct of a captain and the fucking computer simulation. A computer simulation that was a computer simulation. He tried, he tried so hard to keep the words he actually wanted to say stuck in his throat. It wouldn't do any good to bring up a past he didn't understand but only felt in the form of neutron stars it never mattered to talk about it and he never talked about it not even with Bones because Starfleet for all its faults and mirrors was still a new life a clean break a safe place a place he could hope and dream and reach for the top because people believed in him and he had friends and he could do something instead of dwelling in neutron stars and it did no good for him to bring up emotions he suppressed memories wrapped up in darkness. So he didn't say anything only put on a serious face and acted like an asshole because that's easiest and he didn't wish that the fucker would understand what it's like to face a real _Kobayashi Maru_ because that's something he can't truly wish on anyone. He can't. He doesn't know why. He's human and he resents a thousand different things he sees in other people like the professor standing across from him son of a diplomat probably would never look twice at someone like him in his life, but he can't bring himself to resent people about something like this. It's not who he is.

And then Vulcan happened and his memory shattered again.

* * *

I eased away from the meld, my mind and Jim's exhausted. With little effort, he and I recreated the space of New York and this time, we chose to lie in the grass in Prospect Park. Random people were milling around us, there was a picnic and children playing various ball games. Jim put his head on my stomach and we laid perpendicular to each other, simply breathing and looking up at the sky.

Nothing about this experience has been easy for either of us.

I do not—I could never—regret it and the new insight I have. This understanding of his character and the strength of his being, the hope that has always burned in him. I did not realize how much it took for him, how much it cost to be the man he is today. It makes it impossible for me not to love him now.

"Really?" he asked quietly.

"Yes."

And he doesn't understand what it is that I see in him that makes me believe in him so fiercely, his perception of himself is made up by sheer willpower and by these fragmented memories. He knows and feels the loyalty people have towards him and he's never thought or questioned it very deeply, but it puzzles him. He sees himself—an ordinary person who's lived through some extraordinary circumstances, had some luck and found a way to get by. There is nothing spectacular or special about that ability because that is the way he has always been. He wants to be better and strives to live up to his name, but he does not see why others look to him for a symbol for inspiration for hope.

"I'm not anything special, Spock."

I raise my eyebrows. In the beginning of our relationship, I only saw brash confidence. I would never have believed that statement would ever come out of his mouth.

"I'm afraid I must contradict you. You are currently in a relationship with me, and as I am the only half Terran half Vulcan in this galaxy, you are by proxy unique as well."

He grinned.

"And you say I've got an ego."

He does. It was brittle and fragile and hard but it allowed him to survive what he needed to survive. Now, it is no longer necessary for his confidence to be based on the force of his personality. It can, and it has been, quietly built in the admiration freely given by his crew, the trust freely given by his friends. What is necessary now is finding a way to preserve it so that it does not fall apart so devastatingly in the face of extended trauma.

"You are a contradiction."

I thread my fingers through his hair and absently think of the transporter incident, how different those two sides were, yet they make up the whole person that he is and I would not have him any other way.

"Yeah?" he sat up and looked at me.

I nodded.

"I guess you'd know about contradictions."

My Terran and Vulcan halves, warring and reconciled.

"As long as it doesn't lead to some logical fallacy, I guess."

"Mathematics is arguably the most logical discipline in this universe and as a system, it is full of contradictions. I believe that Godel proved this on Terra. They are built into the system and are necessary for its existence."

"It's all part of logic, then?" Jim leaned down, his lips hovering over mine.

"Yes," I bridged that distance and kissed him.

And in our meld comes the amazement that I am still with him, that despite the fact that he has shown me some of the darkest parts of himself, I love him and find what seems to be a contradiction to be a thing of logic and beauty.

The meld recedes, he takes charge of our mindscape and it fades until there is only an enhanced telepathic connection and we are in my quarters.

_I'm sorry_ comes through his touch and I know what he's sorry for, sorry for the anger and the sessions of fighting and fucking the viciousness the silence but I tell him that _I've already forgotten and strictly speaking, it was not an altogether unpleasant experience_ and he is smiling with blue eyes not whole but not empty and _let me make that up to you_ and I have absolutely no objection if he desires to do so though _I promised Leonard and Christine that we would dine with the crew_ and _that's fine we have time_

Jim is very generous in bed when he sets his mind to it.

_You like that sweetheart you like it_

In the beginning of our relationship, we focused on experimentation and pushing each other to different limits.

_Don't think don't think just feel come on Spock open your eyes for me come on say my name you know I'll do anything for you_

Then sex was a revelation, a way to express newfound passion and a physical expression of something that can never be encapsulated in the range of thought and emotion.

_Let me make it up to you_

Then something relaxed, casual, intimacy shared between lovers.

_You like it when I do this, and this, and this, and open your mouth give me your hand I'll do it just the way you like it_

And a fight, an outlet for frustration and everything we did not find satisfying about each other.

_Say my name Spock don't control don't think come on let me let me just the way you like it I remember how you love it_

Now this.

_Spock don't come yet don't wait a little longer I promise a little longer_

It is wholly different, having an experienced lover who knows your body, mind, everything about you and you know him, and there is intimacy mixed with experimentation, kinetic poetry that burns quietly and steadily instead of the intense heat of a bushfire, an outlet and expression that comes only with time.

_That's it you're beautiful like this_

And after my climax and his, I find myself almost smiling.

I want to classify this.

_Jim, is this what Nyota referred to as 'make up sex'?_

Laughter and _something like that_ he kisses my fingers. _Like it?_

_I did not make my pleasure known?_

More laughter and feet touching his toes brushing against my heel and staying there for a while, for five minutes, breathing and tangling feet.

We are ten minutes late for dinner, but they make no comment, only smile and immediately demand we take sides in the debate concerning the merits of bagpipes and electric guitars.


	230. Ch 230

exhale


	231. Ch 231

Vulcan happened and as bad as the memories of Tarsus were as terrifying as some parts of his life were in the darkness between masks, this took it to a whole new level.

It was a haze. In a period of time when his memories finally began to order themselves in narrative in some kind of autobiographical record Vulcan stands out as a black hole like the singularity the swallowed the planet. He knows the basic sequence of events because he had to write the report and had to give interviews and talk about what was going through his head and it would look stupid if he told them honestly that his head was a mess people don't take confidence in that kind of thing so he made up a sense of linear time based on records and what Bones told him. But honestly, Vulcan was chaos.

His emotions remember. They remember in a way that doesn't make any sense at all, because to him it felt like he got marooned on Delta Vega first and it was ice and cold then he's back on the bridge walking with Pike to the shuttle and giving Spock a look when he's named First Officer then jumping off down away onto a Romulan or catching Sulu on the mining ship between platforms fighting man to man with that animal that came charging towards him in the ice and in the shards the electric storm shattering his birth and his mother saying that George is supposed to be there but George is getting married to Aurelan and he got the invitation but blew it off for the sake Bones who's jabbing him with a bunch of needles in the middle of an academic hearing while Gary is talking about how he's a superhuman now and doesn't need normal laws like Nero talking of his pain and how he'd rather die than accept help but the nacelles aren't coming out and they could be falling falling falling into the planet Psi when Spock detonates the Red Matter and the _Enterprise_ comes out of warp to the sight of an entire fleet being destroyed while Vulcan is disappearing under him he's being pulled down into the blackness landing on top of Spock who's choking him and he can't breathe while a tsunami of emotion hits him though the touch of a few fingers and an old man in a cave telling him a story of another universe another world where lightning storms are not in Iowa where he wakes up in Sickbay tongue ballooning and numbing and hands exploding with pain as he tries to fight Spock on the bridge watching Scotty get sucked through water systems the spinning knives like phasers going off in the mining ship the metallic taste of seeing Pike strapped down tortured and tired but still alive as he saw the platform drilling into Earth while Spock reached on the transporter pad for his mother and his mother's voice telling him his name his name what is your name while Nero sneered saying he was a great man in another time and the old Vulcan in the cave held up the ta'al when he got his captain's commission the interviews trying to make sense of everything working on computers as Spock digs through the Romulan's mind for information and he kills thinking alien thinking Vulcan's gone the blackness staring at him from a planet the blackness staring at him from the bridge as they try to get away from that hole that's sucking sucking to new places and other possibilities and volcanoes exploding the transporter whirring in Sickbay while he gets patched up and watches Spock speak in low tones to his father faces etched in grief nothing makes sense nothing makes sense nothing makes sense but the adrenaline rush is incredible and he's got a gun he's got a gun he's shooting the phaser the gun the ship he's beaming transwarp he's going in for the kill he's shooting up the drill he's killing the Romulans he's jumping off the rig he's jumping off the shuttle he's yelling screaming laughing choking clawing his way up from the ice in the middle of it all is nothing in the middle of it all is Vulcan gone and Spock reaching out for his mother and in the middle of it all is him yelling that Spock never loved his mother that emotional compromise doesn't compute in the middle of it all is the grief that is not his but is his the tsunami dragging him under while he accepts his commission and his face is gaunt and the people are clapping and Spock doesn't speak to him the rest of the mission unless he absolutely has to Spock doesn't look at him Spock keeps to himself and Uhura glaring accusing telling him things he already knows about himself in the middle of it all is the fact that he doesn't feel like a fucking hero he never felt like a fucking hero what are they doing pinning a bow to his chest and thinking that makes everything better while Bones tells him to go to Sickbay and George sends him a transmission that's as awkward as hell and he's trying to organize a crew trying to negotiate with Uhura to stay on as his communications officer sending transmissions to Spock asking him to stay avoiding the alcohol because that's not a pretty combination in the middle there is no middle except exhaustion and Vulcan disintegrating and the Starfleet psychologists are asking him questions while the Admiralty is erasing as much as they can from his colorful files in the middle of it all is a sense that this is what he wants isn't it this is what he dreamed of isn't it then why does it feel like a haze like shit like a dream and why does it feel like it came at an intolerable cost but he doesn't think about it and just keeps going keeps talking walking acting moving because that's what Jim Kirk does best pretending to know what the hell he's doing how the hell he's surviving and for some reason it reminds him of the time right after they bust in with the guns and shot up the house when he was drifting wandering scuttling like a cockroach across parched land sense of continuity shot to pieces but he keeps going going going going going because that's all he's ever had the sense of running in a time when his memory should have been linear and continuous and sane and normal instead of a tsunami instead of a singularity instead of a hole

echo

hole

echo

headache

hurt

echo

tsunami tsunami tsunami pulling grief rending pain reverberating in his skull the memories out of order jumbled in order who's to say it didn't happen that way who's to say his mind isn't the reality but no that's not how it is

echo

order

This is why he never goes back. Never tries to remember. It's ugly and confusing and if he didn't have Spock, he'd never do it. Be content to keep going and never stop. Spock gives him the resolution the strength the support to go and try to come to terms. They don't try to make sense of it. There's no way to make sense of it. They go back and try to come to terms. It's not a monster he's facing, but a force. The weight and indescribable pull of his emotions. This is why he never goes back and if he had a choice, he never would. Even with Spock, he avoided doing anything like this.

His own terms. He was never able to meet his memories on his own terms. One memory like this sucks him into a hole suddenly he remembers everything that he didn't want to remember, drowns in it. Every situation feels like a variation, a repetition of something he tried so hard to forget. He tries to make every situation better, improve the results, tweak the outcome so that they come out with a planet intact. Lives not lost. Some kind of victory but if there was ever a no win situation, it's a battle like this. A battle against the past, when things can't be changed and the only thing he can do is promise to do better in the future.

Mind fragmented. Fragmented in more ways than one, because on an average shift, he's not thinking about this, doesn't remember it. That's the point. There's a sense of normalcy and an ability to laugh and joke and be himself, or at least part of himself. That's the problem with these memories like neutron stars like black holes. He falls into them and it's blackness, it's a pit and he's never known how to pull himself out except by walking forward and willfully forgetting. Even though it's never actually forgotten.

Dreams and nightmares. He had nightmares of Vulcan. Nightmares of everything. Repeated over and over and over. He forgets those too. The nightmares aren't about terribly distorted figures or shapes, but about silence. About an oppressive weight he can't escape and it presses, presses, presses down until he feels like he can't breathe. Nightmares that don't contain monsters but are somehow—and maybe Spock's going to laugh at this, but they are—existential. Full of despair, no light no hope no warmth no laughter. Not even wailing or rage or sorrow. Nothing except the unbearable press press press of emotion that he cannot name and cannot separate. Can't escape. That's the thing that drives him to avoid sleep, that's the thing that keeps him from eating, pushes him to exercise obsessively so that he can _feel_ something. Something physical, tangible, real.

His nightmares about the Games were different. They're mostly about him killing people over and over, only instead of other prisoners and thralls, he's killing himself. Spock. The crew. He has no idea what any of it means but it terrifies him and the most terrifying one was where he was fighting clawing gasping for his life while one of the thralls built like a bull was winning and about to kill him but at the last moment he manages to drive the sword into him and it's not the thrall but Spock who's reaching out to him like he was reaching on the transporter pad and Spock dies green blood flowing and Jim finds himself suddenly on Delta Vega in a cold cave with emptiness echoing emotion drowning him until the ice recedes and all that's left is black. Black black black not even space just emptiness.

This is why he never goes back. Never tries to remember. It's not worth it, the confusion and terror and he gets so tired of nightmares coming to the front and receding and back and forth like the tide like the ocean vast and enough please Spock enough please warmth and light and laughter instead of these black holes and memories he never wanted to visit again.

It is difficult because mixed into his associations of Vulcan are mine the grief and image of my mother my home the educational facility the red sands and the feeling of the air the desert plants the taste of water home and home a longing I have not felt for some time. Like Jim, I have avoided thinking about Vulcan and mixed into his associations are mine that consist of another kind of sorrow an ache I feel to the depth of my being and so many regrets so many things unsaid so many questions and the image of an individual a child who was desperately lonely and desired acceptance but refused to give up the dream of being recognized and seen for his own value not judged based on birth and blood.

_We're not there anymore. We're not there anymore_ he holds me and in holding me holds himself.

This is how he has consoled himself throughout the years, this is how he has kept himself. He's not there anymore, he's not in the past anymore but in the present, in the moment that is proceeding forward, the place of action and change. He is neither in the future nor the past, but memory insists on pushing forwards into the present. Memory insists on taking him back, back, before and he simply continues pushing forward.

It is not necessary to do that anymore. He has me. I have him. We have the _Enterprise_. At the same time, it's in moments like these I feel powerless to help him because I am half Vulcan and half Terran, my psychology is distinct from his and despite the mind melds, it does not mean that the way in which I process emotions is appropriate for him. He has already developed coping mechanisms, and what is necessary now is to find strategies that complement those mechanisms or to use new ones where those tools fall short. That is where M'Benga and the Medical Department will be able to help. The solutions will undoubtedly be imperfect. There is no one or ideal way to process trauma.

_We're not there anymore. We're not there anymore_.

What Jim does with time, I do with space. I have perpetually been seeking a place that is _away_. Away from Vulcan, away from Terra, away from my school, away from my home. Away from the people associated with those places, away from the experiences that transpired. Metaphorically, I have always been searching for a place in society. I find it appropriate that in our melds, I anchor Jim in time, he anchors me in space. I do not know what to think of the fact that the time and place we return to consistently is lost, reconstructed only in memory.

_We're not there anymore_.

And we are not. We are in the corner of a bar listening to jazz music soft and low. Jim's mind provides atmosphere—he's had extensive experience with all the different varieties of bars and clubs. His mind lends to the environment, the low lights, the feeling in the air, the mystery and sultry aspect of the music playing, the movement of the musicians, the way notes are saturated with feeling. I provide detail. My memory goes towards creating the notes themselves, the improvisation, the rhythm and meter, the architectural detail of a pre-Warp establishment, the language spoken, the colors in the room. Our knowledge mixed together to create something neither of us could achieve independently. And in a bond, that ability will be open always. The possibilities when we are on the bridge are endless.

Unexpectedly, Jim gets up (he gets up) and walks to the open space in front of the band where couples are dancing (he holds out his hand and I stand. He goes to his computer terminal and turns on a song) the band in our mind starts playing and he takes my hand (he takes my hand and wraps his other arm around my waist) and wraps his other arm around my waist and pulls me close (pulls me close and intimate) dancing (more like moving back and forth on our feet but in our quarters and the music) relieving the tension and sorrow and weight that emanated from those neutron stars of our memory (I keep one hand to his face and the other we have aligned together) and he relaxes (he relaxes) and I relax (I lean in closer but keep the meld) and he thinks it a little strange a little funny a little sad that we are not in New York but in our quarters mindspace overlaid with reality overlaid memory and he kisses me (he kisses me careful to move slowly) and we have little sense of how long this goes on but he needs sleep to recover from the intensity of the meld. Jim and I are required on the bridge later, possibly working double shifts.

When the song ends I allow the meld to end gradually.

Guide him to bed.

And watch him fall asleep.


	232. Ch 232

inhale


	233. Ch 233

Vulcan happened and his memory shattered Tarsus happened and his memory shattered Karidian's voice and his memory shattered Vulcan happened and his memory shattered Tarsus happened and his memory shattered

Tarsus Vulcan Tarsus Mitchell Cestus Keeler Tarsus Vulcan Tarsus Keeler New York ripples Games thralls Tarsus Vulcan Tarsus searching frantic for Spock for Bones for sanity for safety Tarsus Vulcan Tarsus funerals blood Gorn war Tarus Vulcan Organia indifference heartbreak death indifference fear Tarsus Vulcan Tarsus hunting bloodhounds augment hounds Tarsus Vulcan Tarsus no sense of time no sense of time no sense of time only shattered only shattered only shattered forget and move forward move forward move _forward_

Tarsus Vulcan Tarsus birth away from the darkness and danger and storms father mother Mark smiling laughing of better days happier times a sense of normalcy even though he was never normal hormonal Tarsus Vulcan Starfleet bars and fists cars and kissed boys girls everything in between raging fighting against nothing against masks against nothing directionless confused forget forget move forward move forward move _forward_

To what? A question asked on drunken nights when everything catches up never catch up never catch up outrun outgun outshoot outman the man hand to hand knuckles and blood vomit and cud the beat boxing fucking in delirious flood of emotion not knowing in the motions slow going the heat locking up in imperious trudging the masks and flasks the tasks the facts his brain knocking up the intellectual justification justify making decisions and plans in the grand running to canyons running the land on a dream through a scheme the stars promise life beyond masking his feelings masking the real things but run and run and run in the circles of purple and darkness the rhythm duck it and hit 'em with a punch hear the crunch of the mortar and pestle grinding to dust the memories of test all the fuckers fucking cocksuckers anger and madness in a memory shattered

But something must have survived. Something must have survived if separate from these, there are memories of starry nights with teenage friends, lighting up cigarettes drinking beers, of the thrill of concentrating on building a piece of machinery that will get him out and away, of easy smiles without complication without demands, of laughter at the sight of a girl glaring up at him from a muddy puddle, of a hand outstretched and offered without second thought. Something must have survived if away from the fragments are whole pictures of defending a freshman from the gang of sophomore small town thugs, of arguing passionately and rationally with professors about the ethics involved in freedom, of responsibilities borne not out of a sense of duty or obligation or grudging leadership but because he's born for this, because he believes despite the shatterings and the shit that people can be good and they can see beyond masks and mediocrity, they can go beyond complacency and indifference to reach outside themselves and let themselves be changed be better be the masters of their lives and loves. The burning conviction that no one can teach and the thing that anchors him that life's worth living, every minute, every moment, no matter the time or place or terror and he'll be okay. It'll be okay.

He'll be okay because if he survived birth if he survived coming to the universe as a wailing premature infant in the middle of space in a shuttle that was never designed for extended use during a lightning storm after his father died and a time traveling maniac was hell bent on destroying everyone while he stopped breathing because his lungs weren't completely developed but he kept living and he likes to think he taught himself how to breath so if he can survive that when the odds were completely against his existence in the first place he can survive fucking anything. He can survive fucking anything.

Including Tarsus. Vulcan. Being the youngest captain Starfleet's ever had. If he can survive all of that, he can survive anything.

And something else must have survived too, because he has me. We have each other.

This is what it takes to be James Tiberius Kirk.

He thinks everyone can do it. He believes everyone has the same potential as he does.

* * *

"Back at home we've got a saying—if you're gonna ride in the Kentucky Derby, you don't leave your prize stallion in the stable."

"A curious metaphor, doctor, as a stallion must first be broken before it can reach its potential."

* * *

happened and his memory shattered happened and his memory shattered happened and his memory shattered happened and his memory shattered happened and his memory shattered

He was already broken when Vulcan was destroyed. He was already reaching his full potential when I met him.

It was not Jim who had to be broken. It was not Jim who broke in that course of events, though his memory shattered, shattered, shattered.

* * *

"A curious metaphor, doctor, as a stallion must first be broken before it can reach its potential."

"My God, man, you could at least _act_ like it was a hard decision!"

* * *

It was not Jim.

fractured fractals shattered circles a grief a loss a mourning

It was me.

Vulcan happened and I was compromised fundamentally. Vulcan happened and I fractured. A thousand cracks that never completely burst apart, but in the process of time were reshaped, rearranged. Reformed to who I am at this moment.

_So something must have survived_ his mind whispers and touches mine. _Something must have survived. Because that's what it takes to be S'chn T'gai Spock. _This_ is what you're made of._

_So something must've survived._

happened and shattered happened and fractured happiness and laughter happened and shattered


	234. Ch 234

He is asleep beside me.

He is asleep beside me, exhausted by memory and the weight of his past.

I am beside him.

I remember nights in New York returning to our apartment from work, cold, tired, uncertain of our future. I remember the grinding stress, the expression on Jim's face as he grappled with the cost of our existence. I remember the change that came over him—that came over us—and in some ways I regret the loss of that boyishness, the soft lines of inexperience. I did not know then, as I know now, how much it cost for him to keep his youthful arrogance.

He is asleep beside me, my arms around him, his head nestled on my shoulder, breathing evenly. Steadily. Sleeping without dreams of empty despair.

stay promise me promise me stay I'm yours promise me stay I don't want immortality I'm not that special stay promise me stay promise me I trust you stay promise me I trust you I'm yours I'm just a guy on a ship promise me stay I trust you stay I trust you stay I always have and always will promise me I don't know what to do stay promise me promise me I need to hear it out loud promise me stay stay promise me I'm yours stay I'm fucking yours stay promise me promise me stay I'm fucking yours stay promise me I trust you stay promise me I never want to be that alone again stay promise me I'm just a guy on a ship stay promise me stay I trust you promise me stay I trust you

I trust you. I always have, and I always will.

stay

promise me

I already gave that promise a long time ago, captain.

He is asleep beside me and I remember the series of missions immediately after New York that we were assigned, when that carefree, cocky expression disappeared and was replaced with the knowledge of his own limits. The image of his mortality. And the realization of exactly how much he had to pay in order to become who he is now, how in giving up that arrogance he gave up the one thing that had kept him alive until the _Enterprise_ came along—how much of himself he risked when he chose to build a team, when he chose to rely on me. How much more of himself he gave than any of us could have possibly realized, and how much of himself he gave _freely_, without resentment or expectation of reciprocity.

He does not think of it. Does not count the cost. Does not think he is anything extraordinary, only an ordinary person who lived, survived, kept going. He does not think of how precious living and surviving is, in and of itself. He simply does it. Walks forward. Keeps going.

A memory.

"The test itself is a cheat, isn't it? I mean, you programmed it to be unwinnable."

"Your argument precludes the possibility of a no-win scenario."

"I don't believe in no-win scenarios."

"Then not only did you violate the rules, you also fail to understand the principal lesson."

"Please, enlighten me."

"You of all people should know, Cadet Kirk, a captain cannot cheat death."

"I of all people."

"Your father, Lieutenant George Kirk, assumed command of his vessel before being killed in action, did he not?"

"I don't think you like the fact that I beat your test—"

"Furthermore, you have failed to divine the purpose of the test."

"Enlighten me again."

"The purpose is to experience fear—fear in the face of certain death, to accept that fear, and maintain control of oneself and one's crew. This is the quality expected in every Starfleet captain."

This memory.

These words.

I did not understand the meaning of his words until now.

He is asleep beside me.

And despite it all, he still asked me to stay as his First Officer. He doesn't know why he did that, only that he knew he had to. It was not a consequence of the meld with my counterpart. My other self was careless in assuming that Jim would be the same as the Jim from his timeline. The emotional transference was devastating. To put so much grief and feelings of guilt into another person when they were already compromised—I wonder if the Ambassador realized that too late.

He pushed it aside. Didn't think about it. Came back to the _Enterprise_ and compromised me, knowing full well that I could kill him. I almost did kill him.

He still asked me to stay, guided by an instinct, trusting a feeling.

Because you don't come out of an experience like Tarsus, an experience like facing the masks of people, without learning how to see behind those masks and knowing without consciously knowing who you can trust, who can help you and change you to be better than who you are. You don't come out of an experience like that without learning to judge people by a fundamentally different criterion.

In seeing my mask ripped away, he saw something he could trust and rely on. A mirror image of himself walking onto the bridge, telling him that Chekov's calculations were correct, offering to go with him on a suicidal mission. The recognition of another just as determined to survive and _win_ what appeared to be an unwinnable situation, despite being split wide open and completely compromised. Despite losing my entire world.

He looked straight into my eyes on Selek's ship, told me that the plan would work and _willed_ me to understand the real meaning behind those words.

Founded on principle, and cemented by time.

_This_ is the principle on which we were founded. _This_ is the starting point of everything between us—our professional relationship, our friendship, our love. This is the reason for something that seemed impossible, but feels inevitable.

_You've seen me, and you know I'm human_.

We survived.

And despite everything between us, despite the emotional compromise, the misunderstandings, the difference in our ways of thinking and looking at the world, something must have survived if today, I cannot imagine life without him and he has come to trust me totally.

Something must have survived.

He asked me to stay.

Something must have survived for him to take that gamble of trust in the first place. Something must have survived for me to take him up on his offer.

_I trust you. I always have, and I always will._

Galactic history will remember us.

But what can it remember of us? No account will survive the passage of time, the details forgotten and lost in memory. No account ever has, or ever will. Each life has its own love story and account of survival. Even I do not know the story of my mother and father's relationship and the struggles they must have gone through. I do not know the principle on which they founded their love and how time cemented it.

Galactic history will remember us.

And I find I do not care.

For Jim is sleeping beside me, my arms around him, his head nestled on my shoulder, breathing evenly, steadily. Heart beating through memory and exhaustion. Heart beating to live and stay.

Galactic history will remember us as great men. In their dusty pages they will erect a marble monument to our life and service.

And I find I do not care.


	235. Ch 235

Why Regret by Galway Kinnel

_Didn't you like the way the ants help_

_the peony globes open by eating the glue off?_

"Pasha!"

"What? Is something happening? Is something wrong?"

"No, calm down. Calm down. I'm okay, there's nothing wrong with my hoverchair. Just, look at this."

"Hikaru, I am going to kill you."

"Isn't it awesome? They're peonies."

"…I am really going to kill you."

_Weren't you cheered to see the ironworkers_

_sitting on an I-beam dangling from a cable,_

_in a row, like starlings, eating lunch, maybe_

_baloney on white with fluorescent mustard?_

"How's the development of the city coming along, mayor? We heard of the recent attack."

"We're rebuilding, Lt. Uhura. There's a lot of projects, as you can see. It's hard, but we hope to open our concert hall—restored from the bomb damages."

"My lads and ladies in engineering would like to help any way we can. Just put us to work any place you need. We've gotten very good at improvising."

"Thank you," the mayor inhaled. "Thank you so much. It means more than you know."

_Wasn't it a revelation to waggle_

_from the estuary all the way up the river,_

_the kill, the pirle, the run, the rent, the beck,_

_the sike barely trickling, to the shock of a spring?_

"Ever been fishing, Spock?"

"Leonard, Vulcan is a desert planet."

"I used to go on a fishing trip with my pa every summer. Me and my brothers, we'd head to a lake just like this one. Those were some good days."

A pause.

"We should go fishing sometime. I wouldn't mind having you around for company."

_Didn't you almost shiver, hearing book lice_

_clicking their sexual dissonance inside an old_

_Webster's New International, perhaps having just_

_eaten out of it izle, xyster, and thalassacon?_

"We should start a book club."

"I was not aware that you were interested in literature, Jim."

"I'm not, not really. But you and Nyota and Sulu are, what with all the reading you do with each other. So start a book club. And Bones likes French literature."

"_Enterprise_ book club. I like it, captain."

"See? Chris thinks it's a good idea."

"If publishers ever found out that the _Enterprise_ had a book club, they'd start advertising on the files. 'Lt. Uhura's pick of the week' or something like that," she smiled.

"Nyota would likely pick an obscure piece of Klingon poetry to recommend."

"Why not?" Christine asked. "Cross-cultural exchange is always a good thing. And I've always wanted to read Klingon poetry."

_What did you imagine lies in wait anyway_

_at the end of a world whose sub-substance_

_is glaim, gleet, birdlime, slime, mucus, muck?_

"Spock, God in Heaven damn you! Did you really need to meld with a _worm_?"

"It is not a worm, doctor, but a horta, the last of its kind. It was badly wounded and in intense pain."

"You were screaming something intense there, Spock. My first mission out of the chair, and we get attacked by an acid-spitting silicon creature."

"I apologize for any alarm I caused you, Sulu. Where is the captain?"

"He and Yota're holding the miners back from trying to kill the horta."

"Were you able to help it?" I asked Leonard.

"Help it? I'm beginning to think I can cure a rainy day!"

"He used the thermoconcrete almost like a skin graft, since it's mostly silicon. The horta looks like she'll be okay."

_Forget about becoming emaciated. Think of the wren_

_and how little flesh is needed to make a song._

Shore leave, early morning in a cabin in the mountains. Jim is outside on the porch, listening to the quiet, watching the way light filters through the rising mist.

He smiles.

_Didn't it seem somehow familiar when the nymph_

_split open and the mayfly struggled free_

_and flew and perched and then its own back_

_broke open and the imago, the true adult,_

"Lt. Chekov, for your valor in the field of battle and your excellent handling of the Tashkeng situation, I present to you the Starfleet Medal of Honor. Congratulations."

_somersaulted out and took flight, seeking_

_the swarm, mouth-parts vestigial,_

_alimentary canal come to a stop,_

_a day or hour left to find the desired one?_

"Are you happy with what you do?"

"_Da, koneshno_. _A tui_, Irina?"

"I remember Starfleet was the only place you wanted to go. You never felt as I did."

"I did. I just, _ya prosto_—"

"No. Even when we were close, you weren't with me. You were thinking of something else. It doesn't matter. We were young. This is where you belong."

_Or when Casanova took up the platter_

_of linguine in squid's ink and slid the stuff_

_out the window, telling his startled companion,_

_"The perfected lover does not eat."_

"Scotty, I love you, but that's disgusting."

"What're you talking about, Nyota? It might be my best sandwich yet. Just you watch."

"I _am_ watching. Give me that nutella—"

"Hey! Don't disrupt the work of genius—this is going to be a symphony of taste."

"Is that Tabasco sauce?"

"Scotty, if that doesn't give y'all acid reflex disease, I'm going to count it as a medical miracle."

_As a child, didn't you find it calming to imagine_

_pinworms as some kind of tiny batons_

_giving cadence to the squeezes and releases_

_around the downward march of debris?_

Because outside the memories of trauma are memories of watching the majesty of a le-matya from a distance, of nights listening to his stepfather tell ghost stories while his mother let him sit on her lap and feel her steady heartbeat, of the thrill of solving a brainteaser, of the freedom and safety being a child with the innate understanding that you are loved.

_Didn't you glimpse in the monarchs_

_what seemed your own inner blazonry_

_flapping and gliding, in desire, in the middle air?_

Я не верю в чудеса  
Но летит машина в небеса  
И теперь я твой супергерой!

_Weren't you reassured to think these flimsy_

_hinged beings, and then their offspring,_

_and then their offspring's offspring, could_

_navigate, working in shifts, all the way to Mexico,  
to the exact plot, perhaps the very tree,  
by tracing the flair of the bodies of ancestors  
who fell in this same migration a year ago?_

Doesn't it outdo the pleasures of the brilliant concert

to wake in the night and find ourselves

holding hands in our sleep?


	236. Ch 236

Shattered.


	237. Ch 237

A/N—Warning, mentions of torture

* * *

"Object Spock."

I open my eyes and squint. There is white light shining in my eyes. I move to raise my arm to avoid the light, but I find I cannot. Restraints.

"Good evening. I believe that is how you creatures greet one another."

I make no reply, trying instead to analyze my situation and surroundings. The voice certainly does not belong to any class of being we have ever encountered—the frequency of the pitch is low, separating out the pattern of overtones yields a strange quality—yet it claims familiarity with the norms of Terran behavior. It is always possible, however, that I am severely compromised.

"I have heard wonders about the sexual nature of humans, and there are several intriguing rumors concerning the sexual practices of Vulcans. But nowadays it's impossible to acquire any Vulcans—one is charged ridiculous prices and one receives instead, a cosmetically modified Andorian or some other nonsense. It was just as hard for me to acquire you, but my hunter promised that they'd make it worth my while. I believe you've met him before? He used to dabble in taxidermy.

"I must say, he was quite right. My preliminary studies of your body have yielded intriguing results. I wonder what I can produce from you emotionally."

* * *

I was not aware that such evil existed in the universe.

Jim, where are you? Find me.

* * *

"This won't do. You suppress everything you feel—I can't force a single reaction from you, let alone an emotion."

Nakedness and another round of detached torture searing bleeding cutting world of nerve ends flaring.

"It's clear you didn't like the last round, with the wires. But not enough to break that ironclad control. We are eroding it, make no mistake about that."

Lift my head with pride. They will break me yet, but right now I am not broken. They've torn my body but I am still standing. Release me. I will sear your soul and snap your neck in one movement.

"Still no answer? You haven't made a sound since you first woke. You know, Object Spock, the longer you keep silent, the more I long to deconstruct the patterns of your scream, the primitive and vocal expression of the pathos that must be inside you."

You are a sadist. I will tear you apart with my two hands. Lift my head with resolve and look directly at my captor.

"That is the secret! I have it! Eureka, as you creatures might say. You still look at me with that—how do you say it?—_light_ in your eyes, the determination not to give in. I must break the source of that confidence first, the rest will follow! Why did I not think of it before? The solution is so simple.

"I think, I will watch Bateman have a round with you. However many times it takes to bring you to your knees. It will be wonderful. Like art, a dance of violence, do you not agree, Object Spock?"

The realization dawns on me. Perhaps this entity refers to something else. Is it possible? Is there any hope that it might not be referring—? But having experienced everything else, the probability that I have correctly predicted the next form of torture is 97%. The remaining 3%, the probability of it never taking place, rests on Jim.

Jim, where are you?

* * *

Steel my mind against everything. Count the minutes in my head like bullets in my hands. My hands. I will still have my hands after this ordeal. They will take every inch from me—my mind, my body, but I have my hands.

Is that enough?

Time passes in inches. The darkness closes around me. It is cold with dread anticipation.

Do not catalog the injuries, do not replay the memories.

Prove Goldbach's conjecture, that every even integer greater than two can be written as a sum of two primes.

Let _X_ be a projective complex manifold. Prove that every Hodge class on _X_ is a linear combination with rational coefficients of the cohomology classes of complex subvarieties of _X_.

Prove that neither the Riemann zeta function nor any Dirichlet L-series has a zero with real part larger than 1/2.

The Twin Prime Conjecture. There are infinitely many primes _p_ such that _p + 2_ is also prime. Prove this.

Steel my mind against everything. Find a safe place in which to withdraw and survive.

_For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch, and palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss._


	238. Ch 238

A/N—Warning, rape

* * *

Bateman enters the prison, along with another male and female. He wears brass knuckles. The other male is holding a length of rope, and the female fills a long syringe with brown liquid. She smiles, eyes malicious. She licks her lips.

And slams the syringe into my spine. The liquid surges into my body.

Horror. Control grasping for control I had not anticipated this as it slips through my fingers like sand the red dust of Vulcan my blood is on fire sex runs through my veins this cannot be happening.

"Potent, isn't it? Just a nice little cocktail I found—makes any humanoid crave nothing but sex, any way they can get it. Only you're half human, so I made the dose more concentrated. Like it? With any luck, you'll be begging me for release," she laughs.

Focus. This is not happening. It cannot be happening. They are unloosing me and my hands are shaking. It is their game—a fight to overpower. If they cannot subjugate me, they will force me to mimic their actions, their violence. My choice. Do I have a choice? My choice is to fight this chemical that presses on every sexual center, paralyzed against their gang rape, or succumb to their drug and become one of them.

_fear rage anger fight bloodlust want need ache stop kroykah breathe control establish control fight strength courage patience hope endure survive dominate rape rage hate lust gasp breathe control kill desire fight remember who you are remember those who love you_

They close in around me from three sides. The length of rope is a lasso. Pain like my eye is going to explode from its socket as Bateman backhands me with the brass knuckles. Again. My lip splits open.

_fight remember those who love you and fight_

A whisper in my mind, a spark of hope.

_Hold on. I'm coming for you._

_

* * *

_

"You like that sweetheart? Don't worry. There's a lot more where that came from."


	239. Ch 239

I am awake. Bateman and his partners are gone. They have sated themselves.

I lie on the prison floor and do not think. Do not recall. Remembering will only drive me to insanity. My only imperative—to survive. There are no comforts I can take.

He is not here. I calculate the odds in my head again and again, adding variables, counting seconds. I calculate the odds of my own survival. I have lost blood.

Do not think about consequences. Consequences imply continuation. Continuation implies another five minutes. Another five minutes implies coming closer to some other form of rape. Another five minutes implies coming closer to my breaking point. Perhaps I have already reached my breaking point. Do not think about consequences. Consequences imply life aboard the _Enterprise_.

Do not think about Jim. Do not think about Jim. Do not think about Jim. Jim implies love implies sex implies rape implies violation implies filth implies despair implies unknown implies why implies nothing. Withdraw withdraw find a safe place but no place is safe. No place is safe.

The door opens. The entity has returned.

"Satisfactory—the emotions witnessed and recorded! Exquisite. Especially when you finally closed you eyes and I could _see_ you struggling not to cry out—though I'll never know if it was from pain or ecstasy. Probably the former, but will you quote the odds that it was both? No? Still maintaining silence, I see. That won't do. I want more from you, Object Spock.

"This silence—why don't you simply give it up? You won't give into that feeling. Just as you had to open your eyes with that light still flickering. Practically extinguished, guttered out, but somehow it's there. I want it gone. I have a theory, you see, that when the light is gone, you will never stop screaming. This ridiculous light has frustrated me to no end, and I would like it eliminated. I almost had you, I almost had you broken, but it seems that wasn't enough.

"Well, it's no matter. We've come to collect your mind. Bateman sends his regards, he quite enjoyed the sport you provided. It's a high compliment, Object—Bateman is very selective about his fun. I do like the rope burns, they are a nice touch.

"I sometimes wonder what it would be like witnessing it firsthand, I have done so in the past. But it's not the same, watching it live. One cannot have objectivity, what with the mess and the noise of it. I'm sure you can understand that as a scientist? I've tried—there's simply something different about watching it from a screen."

Do not listen to words. Do not think. Do not move. Survive.

Survive for what? What in this universe could possibly be worth surviving this for? End it.

Don't.

Why?

Just don't.

Justification.

None.

Logic.

None.

Emotion.

None.

Then why.

Just don't.

A girl emerges from the shadows. Wild, her eyes are infected with madness.

"Well, go on with it."

"Does if do I promise get?"

"If you do a good job, exactly as I want."

"Promise heart cross die to hope I?"

"Do it girl!" the sound of a slap, sending her across the room.

The girl ferociously attacks, but the entity activates a switch and she crumples, clutching her head and twisting in agony. She screams and screams until her voice is gone, and she is sobbing against the pain. Whatever my condition, hers is infinitely worse.

That realization brings no comfort.

"Now get up sweet child and do as I say."

Her body goes limp and she takes heaving breaths, audible gasps of air. Tears stream down her hollow cheeks.

One of the attendants drags her up to her feet and she sways, eyes closed. With trembling hands she presses her fingers into her face until the nails dig in and liquid oozes out of her skin.

I raise my defenses as much as I can, wondering how much of my memories and mental facilities will remain intact after this ordeal. If—when—if Jim ever finds me, I will be a different person.

Time passes. An eternity. A second. I do not know. I cannot distinguish. The little that remains of my energy and willpower is poured into my telepathic shields.

I do not know why I am defending myself. The temptation is there—

But the attack never comes. Instead, there is a knock. In the space of our minds, the mad girl stands before me, clear eyed and weary.

"This way was not always I. Escape, escape before break they you too. Before break you must I. Control fragile."

I do not trust her.

"Best this they do. Break trust. More than breaking people, expert faith breaking in. No hope, no hope, dark and gloom. Trust me not, weapon am formed. Own mind betrays—good not me to trust."

She suddenly smiles and looks up. The expression is disturbing.

"Bells. Stars. Clarion calls. Can you hear them?

"Here. Are here they. Are here they to him away take. Running confusion ants spiders make blood spilled on the titanium ladder climb away and fly to me mighty spirits call and clash the clouds of iron free fall come away come away in rage and panic light love laughter life and lay today today we find the shelter helter skelter are the fray."

She looks at me, clear eyed once more.

"Gift you give I. Hope from slave, two mites from widow woman. All that I have—small weak words. But remember me, for gift you give I."

She looks curiously at her hand, and slowly her ring finger and middle fingers part and her hand forms the ta'al. I stare at her when she holds that gesture out to me.

"Remember remember life love and laughter / remember remember love laughter and light / keep fighting keep living heart beats to remember / a reason to go in the face of the night. Remember remember those who so love you / remember your mind and your heart and your soul / remember the struggle the tears and the shadows—this too shall pass and soon you'll be whole.

"Evil and hatred the madness of terror / agony despair the blackness of pain / remember the goodness the pureness the shelter / remember the hope and his love once again. Survive and suppress the fear of tomorrow / there is a clean place to wash all away / the filth and the rape and the stench of surrender / the vileness the dirt wash away in the rain.

"You have reason to live you have reason to love / to continue to thrive to stand without shame / forget this place and forget all your sorrow / they love you they live share your burden your name. He's here for you near for you yearning with anguish / to find you to free you to love you to claim / a kiss from your lips from your hands and to hold you / heart beats to remember heart beats to remain."

_Spock_

She closes her eyes and I feel her presence fading, ephemeral and receding.

"At last I am free from the ones who tore brain \ to pieces and killed for amusement for gain / lab observation and let us create \ new Frankenstein monster girl coronate / sold me for pennies as oddkin and slave \ but now free from unending unfailing crave / to use to confuse to muse to abuse me \ control to prick to pinch to extol me / mind weapon tool unstable unholy \ unwhole missing pieces never to find. At last I am free, a girl who dreamed only / of escaping with wings and touching the sky. At last I am free, a girl but the only / way of escape was in madness to die."

_Spock. Spock, come back to me. Come back to me._

Open my eyes. Corpses are being dragged away by various Starfleet officers. Among them, this emaciated girl. I watch as they stuff her body into a black bag.

"Hey, Spock, how're you doing?" he asks softly as he works on my shackles.

I close my eyes, and open them again.

"I'm here. I'm real. We're all here, okay? We'll get you out of here. Sulu, exits secured?"

"Yup."

"Bones, get ready for some hurt people."

"Shut up Jim and just beam up asap. Gently."

"Giotto, all teams done sweeping this hell hole? Any prisoners?"

"Seven killed on sight, three captured. The teams are still chasing some stragglers down, but most of them scattered, sir. There are some pretty deep prisoner facilities—everyone will need medical help. Some look like they've been here for a long time."

"Organize whatever you need. Nyota, transmissions to Starfleet now. I want them to know about this fucking sex trafficking ring they've got going here, and I want the highest authorities you can pull here to investigate."

"Aye sir. Jim—is he—?"

"Want to say hi to Nyota, Spock? Nevermind, scratch that. Nyota, he's in one piece. I need you on duty though, all right? Keep it together."

"Understood."

Jim lifts me into his arms. Someone places a blanket around me, while others suck in breath at the sight of my mangled body. I tuck my head into Jim's chest.

_I'm here. You're safe. We'll get through this. Just hold on._

"Do we have a secure beam up location?"

"Confirmed, captain."

"Then do it."

I am in his arms. No place is safe. I do not think of consequences. But I hold on.

* * *

De mí sé decir que, después que soy caballero andante, soy valiente, comedido, liberal, bien criado, generoso, cortés, atrevido, blando, paciente, sufridor de trabajos, de prisiones, de encantos; y, aunque ha tan poco que me vi encerrado en una jaula, como loco, pienso, por el valor de mi brazo, favoreciéndome el cielo y no me siendo contraria la fortuna, en pocos días verme rey de algún reino, adonde pueda mostrar el agradecimiento y liberalidad que mi pecho encierra.


	240. Ch 240

He's asleep beside me.

It's the first time I've seen him sleeping—Vulcans don't sleep, not really. They meditate, and it does the same thing for them. Even after sex, he never sleeps. He just lies there next to me, probably doing the same thing I'm doing right now. He makes a point to be there when I wake up, after that first misunderstanding. I open my eyes and he's there at my side, dark eyes and sharp angles and soft kisses. He lets himself be intimate here, after passion is spent and it's just the two of us. It's the best part of my day.

He's asleep beside me for the first time. Bones released him from Sickbay, his expression hard and haggard. I don't even bother to ask for diagnosis. Anyone with two eyes and half a brain can see Spock's in no condition to be standing. But there's no way he's staying there. Not after what he's been through. I can't carry him—can't count the number of times he's carried me—but he leans against me. It's like he weighs nothing. Bones doesn't say anything about the wheelchair. Spock just loops his arm around and buries his face in the crook of my neck as we walk to my quarters. Our quarters. He doesn't say a word.

I gently help him down on our bed. Arranging the covers around him, he looks at my face, eyes gleaming in the darkness. His hand comes up and he trails his fingers along the arch of my eyebrow, down my cheek, across my lips. I kiss his fingers. They go up along the side of my nose and I close my eyes as his touch ghosts across my eyelids, then down the bridge of my nose. His hand is still. I take it in mine, and lean down and kiss the line of his eyebrow, then his closed eyes, then the corner of his lips. He shivers, and I realize he must be freezing. I get up—he makes a sound—I promise him I'll be back, and raise the temperature. I take his hand in mine, but he's already asleep. I can see the weariness in the lines of his body. I lie down beside him.

There've been times when I wished that I could do this, watch him sleep. Now, I would give anything for this to have never happened. He shudders and his jaws clench—a nightmare. I wrap my arms around him to make whatever demons he's facing go away, wishing for the billionth time that I could somehow make him forget all the hell he's been through. But I can't. So I make do with what I have, afraid that it's still not enough.

The shivering stops. His breathing evens out. I adjust my position carefully, bringing him closer. The nearness makes me excruciatingly aware of the effects of the torture, all the places they bruised and broke him. Just the thought of it makes me so fucking angry, but I immediately block those emotions when Spock whimpers. The sound is like a knife straight into my heart. Rage can wait. I softly kiss his temple. _I'm here. You're safe._

I concentrate on his slow, quiet breathing and the steady beat of his heart. I try not to, but again in the darkness, I can't help but feel the ten thousand ways they violated him. Can't breathe. I can't even name the emotions that wash over me, threatening me to drag me under. Then push it aside again. Grief can wait too. Spock's here in my arms, and that's enough to drive away any sorrow. For now.

He nestles closer to my body and I am undone. Right then and there I know I'll do anything for him. Anything. Just name the price and I'll pay it—Spock's worth all that and more. I'll blow up a planet, fly to the ends of the galaxy, give up my ship, leave any paradise the universe has to offer to have him at my side. I've known for a long time, but this adds another dimension to everything I feel. Everything I've been feeling for the past months, years.

I don't usually think about stuff. It's not who I am—Spock's the one who makes me stop and actually think twice about what I'm planning. Starfleet psychologists would tell you that's why we make such a good team, something about opposites and balance. If you told me right at the beginning that this is what we'd become, that I wouldn't be able to imagine life without him, I'd laugh and give you one of my shit eating smiles. Sure man, whatever you say.

To be honest, I don't really know how this happened. One minute, I'm arguing with Spock about Starfleet protocols, the next we're playing chess, the next, we're kissing and I want him in my bed. Then best of all, he's actually in my bed, naked, his skin flushed green. I kept telling myself that it couldn't be love. I'm usually pretty good at lying to myself. Didn't work here. Never in a million years did I even think that he might reciprocate. That he does, that he compromised himself for me, still makes my heart stop.

Then I almost lost it all. While we were searching for him, I didn't tell the crew how close we came to losing him. They saw for themselves when we finally found him, after I sprinted through dark corridors guided by nothing but fear, the dark terror of feeling. Sulu and the team with me, getting directions from Chekov while I took point. I don't remember anything they said, any of the orders I gave. There's only the burning focus, thud of adrenaline to move forward, closer, find him.

I'm never going to forget. Those beige corridors. I'm never going to forget.

It doesn't matter. It's over. Spock's not fighting to find reasons to hang on—he's alive. He's with me. He's on the _Enterprise_. We've got our crew.

That's all that matters.


	241. Ch 241

I wake, heart racing, blood rushing, gasping for breath. Every movement hurts. For a moment emotions flood me, the agony terror fear rage anger the emotions spin and like a hurricane grow in strength as my control slips away and I don't know where I am who I am in the darkness and memories emerge flickering each one a second each one an eternity and my silence grows until it suffocates.

Someone touches me and I lash out until I realize they are not fighting to control to dominate me but saying something and asking me soothing calming that I'm safe and keeps telling me that even though I know there is no safe place. A trick? I am tired of fighting to live.

It is Jim.

Associations come to the surface, all of them irrational. Relief he's here he's here with me I'm not there anymore betrayal why didn't he come sooner quick suppression of that feeling remembrance of the despair I would never be found and in my awareness again is the burning scorching of their hands and the violation and suppressing that feeling but it refuses to be suppressed. He tells me that I am safe but there is no safe place. He holds me but I can't bear his touch it is clean it is filthy I am filthy his emotions are held in check but underneath that control there is an avalanche waiting to roar down and I cannot take it.

I shrink from his touch even as I want to be held by him.

I am compromised in so many ways.

Jim does not reach out for me, comprehension flickering in his eyes. There is grief pain anger love in that look but I still place as much distance as I can between us. There is no safe place.

I inhale deeply. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Take stock in the steady rhythm of my breathing, something I am able to regulate. Something I can order and pattern. I close my eyes and regain some semblance of the control I had lost. We sit in silence, and I try to anchor myself in—in what? _Remember the goodness the pureness the shelter_ but there is nothing. I cannot find anything even as Jim sits near me and claims that this is a safe place.

I do not understand. I do not understand how anyone could find such pleasure in the degradation of another, I do not understand how any sentient being can enjoy screams of pain or sobs of terror. I do not understand why I endured this, I do not understand why I am still here. What kind of universe do we live in that every minute, someone somewhere suffers this same agony? What kinds of sick minds exist that these experiences are not merely a fiction, but a reality? I do not understand.

Am I supposed to take satisfaction in the fact that I never made a sound for them? What satisfaction is that, when they took everything they wanted from me. Am I supposed to take solace in the fact that I looked straight into their eyes with a pride I did not feel, with courage I did not believe in? There is nothing left of me that is clean. The mad girl told me to remember, but I cannot remember anything worth living for. Everything is tainted. Everything is smeared with the stench of rape, even love and friendship and trust. All of that is broken.

And these feelings. These emotions. The emotions I felt throughout the ordeal. The words that could never describe the despair and shame and humiliation and I don't understand and never wanting to touch another creature again. The feeling that whatever is good and pure in this universe is nothing does not exist is helpless against the sadism indifference insanity evil torture.

Emotions.

_Remember remember life love and laughter_

If this is what it means to be human, I don't want it.

_Remember remember love laughter and light _

If this is what it means to feel, I don't want it.

_Keep fighting keep living heart beats to remember / a reason to go in the face of the night_

If this is the price I must pay to love and hope and trust, it is too high a cost. I will not, I cannot pay that price anymore. They have taken everything.

_Remember remember those who so love you_

I have nothing left to give.

_Remember your mind and your heart and your soul_

If this is what life is made of, if _this_ is the true face of the universe, I don't want it.

_Remember the struggle the tears and the shadows—this too shall pass and soon you'll be whole_

I open my eyes, Jim is still there, looking at me.

"Spock," he says quietly. "Bones needs to check up on you in Sickbay."

_Evil and hatred the madness of terror_

I nod slightly but make no move to leave.

_Agony despair the blackness of pain_

I am not certain I will be able to walk all the way there.

_Remember the goodness the pureness the shelter_

"Come on," Jim holds out his hand.

I look at it.

_Remember the hope and his love once again_

They are familiar. I know every ridge along his palms and valley between his knuckles and the deftness of his fingers and the strength of his grip. I know the line of the tendons and the paths of his arteries. His protruding wrist bone and angle of his thumb.

"Hey, it's okay," he says, slowly coming closer to me. "You can lean on me to get there, all right?"

_Survive and suppress the fear of tomorrow_

I hesitantly put my arm across his shoulder, my elbow hooked around his neck.

_There is a clean place to wash all away_

We make our way to the bulkheads slowly. When they open, I inhale and stiffen. People walk the corridors.

_The filth and the rape and the stench of surrender_

When they see us, they stop and come towards us with outstretched hands and grabbing hands fists and brass knuckles and the rush of memory. I curl into Jim his body is between them and me shielding me and I close my eyes. He holds me secure.

_The vileness the dirt wash away in the rain_

"Everyone," Jim says calmly, "I appreciate your concern and desire to help, but what I really need now is for you to clear the corridors, from here to Sickbay. Someone inform Dr. McCoy that we're on our way."

There are several "aye sir" and "yes captain" and a few apologies "we didn't mean to scare him."

"Commander Spock will be fine. We'll all get through this like we always have. Now back to duty."

_You have reason to live you have reason to love_

How does he know everything will be fine? There is no safe place.

_To continue to thrive to stand without shame_

"Spock. Spock, they're gone. Everything's gonna be okay."

_Forget this place and forget all your sorrow_

He loosens his hold as I open my eyes and return to my original position.

_They love you they live share your burden your name_

The walk to Sickbay is excruciatingly long. With each step I take, I wait for someone to jump from around a corner. Or for the vision of the _Enterprise_ to disappear and the mad girl will be there with her bloody eyes, tearing away the vestiges of my memory.

Jim says nothing.

_He's here for you near for you yearning with anguish_

He patiently waits and helps me with each step. The mountain of feeling is still there, ever looming. It will crash down and I will be buried under it and wake to find that it was my feeling that I am in that cell again with shackles.

_To find you to free you to love you to claim_

Irrational. Clearly I am compromised if I cannot distinguish between reality and my projected fears.

_A kiss from your lips from your hands and to hold you_

That is what it means to be human. I do not desire it.

I am through with emotion. Let me purge them from my very being, let me be purified.

_Heart beats to remember heart beats to remain_

I stumble but Jim catches me.

"I've got you. We're almost there." _You're safe_ he repeats and repeats.

There is no safe place.

When we reach the Sickbay, Dr. McCoy is waiting.

"Hey Spock. Have a seat here," he points to a biobed. He takes out a tricorder and begins to take measurements but Jim is still there and I blurt out

"No."

Leonard frowns.

I look at Jim, then look away. "No."

Comprehension dawns on Leonard's face, but Jim is puzzled. He quietly takes Jim aside.

"Jim, you need to leave."

"What? Why?"

The doctor take Jim to the Sickbay storeroom and closes the door. For some minutes, I simply sit on the biobed, watching the monitors rise and fall as they steadily record my heartbeat.

_Heart beats to remember heart beats to remain._

Jim and Leonard return to my side. Jim gives a glance at Dr. McCoy, who nods.

He kneels before me and reaches for my hand. I retract my hands.

"Spock," he says, eyes searching my face. "I'll leave, if that's what you really want, but," he pauses and looks at the ground. Then looks back up. "Let me stay. Let me help.

"I don't know what you're feeling or thinking, and I don't pretend to know. But whatever it is you're going through, I want to be here, with you. I don't want to watch you deal with this shit alone.

"We'll get through this, I _promise_ you. We'll get through it. You'll heal, you'll forget and this'll someday be a distant memory. And I know that Vulcans don't forget anything, so we'll make ten thousand great memories and bury this under them.

"I love you."

I look away.

"I'll do anything for you. If you want me to leave, I'll leave. If that's what you need, I'll do it. But please, let me stay."

I still do not look at his face.

Jim remains before me, waves of fear and hurt radiating from him. And still that river of feeling boils underneath, waiting to cascade down. But he masters those emotions once again. My telepathy reaches out and his anger and helplessness melt away, replaced by the soft light of hope. A billion stars burning in a galaxy, hurtling through the blackness of space and giving life to darkness.

His blue eyes blaze.

"Please, let me help," he says softly, broken.

I close my eyes. Inhale. Exhale.

_Remember remember life love and laughter  
Remember remember love laughter and light  
Keep fighting keep living heart beats to remember  
A reason to go in the face of the night._

_Remember remember those who so love you  
Remember your mind and your heart and your soul  
Remember the struggle the tears and the shadows—  
This too shall pass and soon you'll be whole._

_Evil and hatred the madness of terror  
Agony despair the blackness of pain  
Remember the goodness the pureness the shelter  
Remember the hope and his love once again._

_Survive and suppress the fear of tomorrow  
There is a clean place to wash all away  
The filth and the rape and the stench of surrender  
The vileness the dirt wash away in the rain._

_You have reason to live you have reason to love  
To continue to thrive to stand without shame  
Forget this place and forget all your sorrow  
They love you they live share your burden your name._

_He's here for you near for you yearning with anguish  
To find you to free you to love you to claim  
A kiss from your lips from your hands and to hold you  
Heart beats to remember heart beats to remain._

I whisper.

"Yes."


	242. Ch 242

"Nyota."

"What did you say, Spock?"

"Nyota."

"Bones, I think he wants Nyota here too."

"She's on her way."

"Spock, I'm gonna take tricorder readin's now, but later I might ask you to lift up your shirt or change into one of the patient gowns. Is that okay with you? Do you want M'Benga to conduct this? What're you more comfortable with?"

I was silent. Then nodded.

"You want M'Benga to do this? I'll got call him—"

I shook my head.

"Stay."

The doctor's exhaled, his expression indescribable. The lines of his face, the look in his eye.

"All right. We've got you, Spock."

"Spock!" Nyota ran into the Sickbay. "Spock," she embraced me.

I returned her embrace, grasping for her.

"Spock," she repeated over and over, stroking my hair. "It's all right, I'm here, we're here," she soothed, rubbing circles into my back. "Ndugu, I'm here."

Don't leave me.

"We're here. We won't leave you, we'll never leave you. It's all right, you're safe now. You're here with us, you're safe."

There is no safe place.

"You're home, with family. You did just as you should have," she continued to hold me, rocking me gently. "_Ushikwapo shikamana_. You held on, and now you're safe. We'll take care of you now."

Don't leave me.

"We'll take care of you. We'll take care you, we'll never leave you. I promise. Not for all the worlds in the Alpha Quadrant will we ever leave you, ndugu. You're safe now. You came back to us. You did what you had to, don't be afraid."

For a moment, she simply sat and held me as my breathing evened out. I felt drained.

"Come on, let's let Leonard take some tricorder readings."

I nodded.

"Do you need me to step back, Leonard?"

"Just a little, yeah, that's good. It'll just take a second. Okay."

I grabbed Nyota back to my side.

"It's okay, it's all right. You're safe now, I'm not going anywhere. Jim, do you want to come over here?"

"Only if Spock wants it," he said quietly.

"Spock?"

I looked at Nyota, then glanced at Jim. He stood at the foot of the biobed, watching us. I unwrapped one of my arms from Nyota and held my hand out to Jim. He slowly came and took my hand in his. Through the contact I could feel his emotion again. They loomed, and I could not bear the fact that he was in so much pain because of me. Before I let go of his hand, I brought it to my lips and kissed it.

The remainder of the examination passed with Nyota's soothing words, Leonard's steady hands, and Jim's presence by my side.

When Dr. McCoy had his diagnosis, he informed me of all the other tests he had to perform and the treatments he would prescribe. The list of my injuries seemed to be Jim's breaking point. I could see the mountain of feeling he had struggled to control come tumbling down. Dr. McCoy led him away from my biobed, as the emotions Jim projected were effecting me and I was beginning to panic. I wanted to help him, but I could not. I was falling apart watching him. I held Nyota even tighter.

Jim returned later, emotion still flowing. The light in his eyes was guttered. He had to be on duty later. He was exhausted, standing broken on his feet. I watched as he pulled a smile together despite it all. He promised to visit me before he went to the bridge.

Dr. McCoy allowed Nyota to sleep in the adjacent biobed that night.

I slept, and did not sleep. There is no safe place.

Time. Jim came back to me, dark circles like bruises under his eyes, his captain's mask firmly in place. We exchanged no words and two kisses, then he left. The _Enterprise_ required her captain.

Don't leave me.

There is no safe place.

Visitors came, but Dr. McCoy did not let them see me. They could only disturb me. I hated the thought of being near anyone, no matter their intention. Dr. McCoy discovered this when he allowed Lt. Shaw access, so that she might ask me the necessary legal questions. I answered them, but clenched my fists so tightly my arms began to shake. Attempts to control my movements were futile. Nyota became upset on my behalf.

Silence. Exhaustion. Fear. Emotion. Purge me.

Don't leave me.

I slept. I did not sleep. I had nightmares. I suppressed them. In the blank haze of interconsciousness I found myself in dreamless sleeps with no thought, no action, no feeling. Only the grey dustiness of exhaustion.

Found. Hidden. Lost. Left. Leave. Stay.

The oblivion of nothingness. The only safety I can find. They tell me I am safe, but there is no safe place. There is no reason but madness, there are only insane rhymes given to me by a crazed girl.

There is nothing to remember. There is nothing worth remembering. There is no safe place.

Don't leave me.


	243. Ch 243

Time.

In bullets.

Ten thousand.

Keep counting.

The hours.

The shifts.

Keep passing.

In bullets.

_Remember_

In bullets.

In blood.

In nightmares.

In sleep.

In(separable.

Ten thousand.

In bullets.

Time.

So slowly.

Exhaustion.

These feelings.

Purge them.

In bullets.

In(sanity.

Tomorrow.

Time.

_Keep fighting_

This breathing.

Ghost laughter.

My hands.

Keep shaking.

Uncounting.

These bullets.

_Heart beats_

In bullets.

Ten thousand.

Per minute.

The screaming.

In dreaming.

Suppression.

No feeling.

The doctor.

His scanning.

His patience.

Is damning.

My hatred.

Irrational.

My hands.

The silence.

Time.

Compassion.

Is human.

Is Terran.

Is alien.

So foreign.

Jim.

In bullets.

Is silent.

Is sorrow.

Is anger.

_Keep living_

Is grief.

Come tomorrow.

Time.

In bullets.

Stop counting.

The heartbeats.

No safety.

Ten thousand.

No sorrow.

No feeling.

No safety.

Tomorrow.

No bullets.

No time.


	244. Ch 244

Serving under Captain James Tiberius Kirk was a mistake.

I should never have embarked on this five year mission.

No, that is not true. That is a fallacious line of reasoning. This event was not caused by my serving aboard the _Enterprise_. It could not have been predicted. It might have happened anywhere in the universe.

That is a false statement. If I had remained on the Vulcan colony, this would never have happened.

My mind searches for something to grasp in the midst of this chaos. Where is logic? My emotions overwhelm me. They clamor even as I grip them and suppress them. Why did this happen?

I will not dwell on it. I will serve aboard this vessel as a Vulcan, as First Officer. Everything will return to its previous order. I will be in control of myself.

Everyone gives me sideways glances and sneaks looks. I can feel their eyes on me. Emotion oozes from their skin. They look at me as though I will fall apart.

I will not lose control of myself. Do not look at me. Nothing has changed. Why do they all look at me in that way? Nothing has happened. Nothing will happen.

Jim Nyota Leonard Sulu Pavel Scott Chapel M'Benga Giotto Shaw Number One Pike countless eyes countless faces hands people the eyes and the watching is suffocating away away leave me be. I am fine. I am standing. Do not look at me with those eyes. Do not give me compassion, do not try to drown me in your muddy emotions.

I have taken the psychological exam. It is worthless. As I am, I am fine, there has been no adverse effect on me. Perhaps I am reticent, perhaps I am quiet, but these are not outside the norms of my usual behavior. I have never been very sociable and I have never enjoyed small talk. Leave me. Do not ask if I am fine, it is self evident that I am fine.

Normalcy. I have returned to the ship, and all can return to normalcy.

Jim looks at me. He looks tired and drained. As does Leonard. Nyota tells me she sometimes cries herself to sleep. Pavel's eyes are not so bright and innocent any longer. What do they see in me that causes such emotion? I feel nothing. I feel nothing, and that is fine.

Terrans and their emotions. If I am not roaming the halls weeping, surely they can control themselves. I do not understand why they are reacting in such a disproportionate manner. No, I do not want sympathy or empathy. No I do not need any help. I stand as you see, and that is all that is needed.

Leave me. Cease your moaning. You look at me and say that I have not recovered, but I am fine. You are the ones who are emotionally compromised, you are the ones who refuse to let this go. Let it lie. I do not want to talk about it. I have no comment.

Control yourself.

I am Vulcan. Emotions are a thing of the mind. I have control.

Resume the pace of daily life. Begin where you left off. If these irrational Terrans would simply stop feeling, then I could move on with my life and leave this behind. I am back on the _Enterprise_ and things should proceed normally, according to schedule, according to plan. Your emotions are interfering with that plan.

I am fine.

Serving under Captain James Tiberius Kirk was a mistake.


	245. Ch 245

Time.

- mistake mistake resume resume normalcy before normalcy before - before - -

- according to schedule - according to plan - - according to regulation - - - according to reason - - - -

rule logic - reason rigidity - - control - - - forget forget forget purge - - return - resume - return - rule - - logic reason - - - control control

survive suppress survive suppress no fear no feeling no hope no hallowing according to plan

- wipe away eradicate - delete - - erase - - - delete - - - - eliminate totality completely - gone permanent - -

I am fine.

- chaos grasping order slipping war blood - stench - surrender fall fall pieces shatter scatter shards - chaos - - - - spreading

- revert back before yesterday - - rewind repeat - avoid - recalculate recalibrate resume reorder

forget - - all - - everything - - impossible - - in darkness - - no sound - - all silence - - the terror - - the haze - - -

- logic reason rationale - order rule regulation - law method structure - form proof theorem - logic law - - reason order -

Leave me.

don't look don't see don't cry don't wail don't laugh don't smile don't rage don't fail don't feel just think don't watch just walk don't weep don't sink don't want just

block - away - - away - - - away - - - -

sleep - - today - - - a day - - five bullets

- time in inches in feet in hands in sleep - in dreams - - - - don't don't don't don't don't don't -

- leave me - - see me - find me - hide me - - lose me - leave me - - mock me - talk me - rationality rationality - - - where don't where do

I am compromised in so many ways.

_the vileness the dirt wash away in the rain_

Forget.


	246. Ch 246

I am always exhausted.

I have fully recovered from all injuries. There is no reason for me to be exhausted. I eat regular meals as Dr. McCoy and M'Benga prescribe. There are energy reserves and calories which my body may consume. There is no reason for me to be exhausted.

Yet I sleep for hours. Vulcans do not require sleep.

There is no logical reason for this.

I cannot focus on the bridge. I cannot focus in my lab, I cannot focus in meetings. My mind wanders, but it goes nowhere. I sit blankly as words go by, discussions go by, plans are made and I have no opinion.

And I am always exhausted.

I have healed from what happened. There is no reason for this exhaustion, no justification for my lack of concentration. Frustration pushes to the surface because I no longer bear the physical marks of the incident, therefore I am healed. I am moving on.

There is no reason to be so distracted.

I sit down to meditate but I cannot bear it. Vulcan meditation requires I review emotions and the events associated with them.

I will not go back there. I am healed. There is nothing more to say or do.

Exhaustion.

Sleep. The one place where everything does not loom over me. I forget myself, I forget everything in that oblivion. I sleep and then am late for my shift.

I am never late. Vulcans are never late. Lateness causes inefficiency and inefficiency is illogical. But I am late and that is just another sign that something is wrong with me.

Everything is wrong with me.

I am healed. I am Vulcan. Emotions are a thing of the mind and the mind can be controlled. I control my mind, I control my body, I control my schedule, I control my time.

I am exhausted for no reason.

Control.

When I am distracted and the captain asks me a question and I have no answer, they look at me with pity in their eyes. I stiffen and hatred pushes to the surface.

Nothing has happened. Everything is as it once was. I am healed.

The captain has taken me off the of the Away Team rotation. He is following the recommendations of Dr. McCoy and M'Benga, and he expressed that he feels it is the right decision.

"Spock, you're not yourself yet."

"Captain, I am in perfect physical condition to participate regularly on Away Team mission. There is no reason for you to remove me from the list."

"You've just gotten over the shit they did to your body. You're still dealing with the emotional backlash," he said gently, but firmly. "And I don't want anything to happen if a mission goes wrong."

"You believe I am not competent."

"Spock, that's not what I said—"

"You believe me to be a liability."

"No, will you just stop and listen for a sec—"

"I have fully recovered from the incident, Dr. McCoy has given me a clean bill of health therefore by Starfleet Protocol 84-A9 it is within my right as First Officer to add myself to the Away Team rosters."

"By Starfleet Protocol 83-R5 I have the power as captain to revoke that right if I think it's necessary. Don't make me do that, Spock. I promise you we'll get through this, and you'll be back on duty. Give it time."

"You believe I am emotionally compromised."

Silence.

"Very well, captain. I defer to your expertise, since you seem to know intimately all my states of emotional compromise. If you'll excuse me."

Jim blanched. I walked away.

I am exhausted.


	247. Ch 247

The mad girl's corpse.

They have no match for the mad girl's corpse.

Starships have no facilities designed to hold cadavers. They transported her remains to a starbase where they did all necessary tests and attempted to identify her.

They cannot even determine what species she is. Certainly humanoid. Part Betazoid, perhaps. The telepathic ability. Certainly an experiment. A composite made of the genetic material of at least fourteen different species.

Someone will write a paper on this.

In the space of minds, we met and instead of starving and bloody eyed, she was swaying and clear. She spoke with her voice.

_Gift you give I. Hope from slave, two mites from widow woman. All that I have—small weak words. But remember me, for gift you give I._

Her words. All I can think of are her words.

I do not want to remember.


	248. Ch 248

The bulkheads to my quarters opened. "Spock?"

Nyota.

I curled into myself and closed my eyes. Leave me be.

"Spock, I brought you some food. You haven't eaten in seventy hours."

She placed the tray down and I could feel her come towards me. She sat down on my bed.

"Spock," she caressed my face. Her touch was grief sadness strength love. "Ndugu."

I opened my eyes and turned to her.

"Come on, you need to eat."

"I am not hungry," I said quietly.

"I know, but you have to eat. Doctor's orders," she gave a small smile. "Besides, I brought you your favorite. Do you want to eat at the desk or in bed?"

"I have no preference."

"Let's eat at the table, get you out of bed for a change."

I mechanically rose and followed her. My limbs were heavy.

She cleared the table, set the places and ladled out plomeek soup for the both of us. I looked at it.

"This is not programmed in the replicators."

"Nope. I made it. Jim helped a little, but he had to go on duty. We found the recipe on the nets, but the first batch didn't taste very good, so we made some improvements. I hope you like it."

I ate a few spoonfuls. Objectively speaking, it was quite good. One could not have asked for better from a Vulcan. But I was not hungry.

"You don't like it?"

"It is wonderful, Nyota, thank you. I simply do not have an appetite."

"Have some more. Just half the bowl. You need the nutrients badly, or M'Benga will have no choice but to give you a hypo of nutrients."

I acquiesced. One spoonful at a time, I finished the soup. In the meantime, Nyota chattered on about the goings on of the ship.

"Sulu came down with a spacebug, so he's stuck in Sickbay. He sends his greetings by the way, and says he's sorry he hasn't been able to read with you more. The captain's been leaning a lot on us. Chekov says he's getting the hang of running the science meetings. They're planning on holding a ship wide conference, so that the scientists can show off to the rest of the crew exactly what they've been doing for all this time. They hope you'll be able to make it."

One spoonful at a time. I forced myself to swallow.

"Leonard is, well, he's soldiering on. Jim's been talking to him a lot—this whole thing has been hard. We'll get through it. Did he tell you? During shore leave, Leonard and Scotty went and bought up the entire inventory of whiskey, bourbon, scotch, and brandy. I have no idea what they're planning on doing with all that alcohol—not drinking it in one go. Or if they do, they'd better invite me."

Half the bowl almost gone. Counting the spoonfuls, losing myself in the music of Nyota's voice. The rhythm of her gossip.

"Scotty's working on a new beaming formula. He says he's going to dedicate it to you. I didn't know you could dedicate formulas to people, but I think it was either that or name a sandwich after you. He didn't think you'd like it half as much, and I agreed. Christine says hi. It was her idea to make the plomeek soup in the first place."

I swallowed. Dipped, lifted, swallowed. The method, muscle memory.

"We all miss you."

Put down my spoon, the bowl not empty.

"Nyota, I am still on the _Enterprise_. The ship is large, but not so large that it is impossible to see each other. You make it seem as though I am removed from the vessel."

I made no move to resume eating.

"Well, you have. You never take meals with us anymore, as soon as your shift is done you disappear. No one disturbs you at the lab, no one dares come to your quarters. You don't talk to any of us anymore. You've withdrawn into yourself."

Tiredness came over me once more. I wanted to purge everything I ate.

"We understand, Spock, truly we do. You need time and space, and we'll give that to you. But please remember that we are here for you. If you ever need us, you know we'll help you."

I looked away.

"I—I am aware of this, ndugu. I want to be myself, I want things to be as they once were before, but," I trailed off. "I do not know myself."

Nyota came to my side and kneeled.

"You are Spock. You're my brother and my best friend. You're the best First Officer in all of Starfleet, serving on the best ship in the galaxy. You are son of Sarek and Amanda Grayson, and nothing they did to you can ever take that way. I love you, and we will get through this. We're standing by you."

Silence.

"You might feel like you've forgotten who you are, like they took everything from you. But they can never take away the loyalty this crew has to you. They can never take away the respect and admiration you've earned. There will be a better day when this is a distant memory for all of us."

"I am so," a sharp intake of breath. The words spill out. Keep the soup down. "Tired. Exposed. Afraid. I have no control of anything, not even myself."

"No. Don't you ever think that. Don't say that, Spock.

"You are strong. You are the strongest person I know. Remember? You were disowned for coming to Starfleet but you became the best anyway. Vulcan was destroyed by Nero, you lost everything, but you continued to command the _Enterprise_ and then volunteered for a suicide mission. You are incredibly strong."

I look away, hands still.

"That's what I see in you—strength and determination. Jim emotionally compromised you, and you _still_ pulled yourself together and went with him on the _Narada_. You've saved so many worlds. That's not something that the weak do, Spock. That's what the strong, the brave, the fearless do. That's what you are. Whenever I'm afraid, I look at you and I see you mastering yourself, putting aside anything selfish, putting away doubts so that you can help others."

She put her hand to my face and smiled.

I do not know what to do with her words.

"You are selfless and kind. You are so funny—you make everyone laugh all the time, nailing Jim with that sharp sarcasm. That's what you are. You don't feel that way, but that's what I see in you."

Her definitions of who I am are no longer applicable.

"It's what we all see in you, and it's why Jim loves you. He loves you so much, and it's killing him to see you like this."

Jim.

Her definition of what we are is no longer applicable.

I looked away once more.

"Nyota."

"Yes?"

"I do not think I can give anything to him anymore," I clenched my fists. "I do not think I can do this any longer."

Silence.

"You don't think you can love him anymore?"

"No," I said immediately. "Yes. I am not certain."

Nyota's eyes searched my face.

"Do you love him?"

Silence.

"It costs too much," whispered.

"Love always costs everything we've got, Spock."

"Then it is too much."

"It costs everything we've got, but it gives back a thousand fold."

"It is not enough, Nyota. Ten thousand fold is not worth this."

"Give it time. You and Jim have something special, something that some people can only dream of. Don't give up on it now. Please."

Time. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.

"This will pass. You both have worked so hard and changed so much to be the people who are you today. Spock, I promise you, this will pass. This is a storm. A hurricane, but even hurricanes blow over. All things have an ending, both good and bad. You'll remember the good things in this universe. You'll remember why love, why _life_ is worth the cost. Give it time."

Remember. Nothing. Words are meaningless. Metaphors useless.

"Ndugu, the storm has ended. The only thing left is miles upon miles of devastation."

"That's the only thing you can see. Give it time. What you'll see will change."

It is not a matter of vision, it is a matter of emotion. Purge me.

"We'll rebuild. We'll rebuild with something stronger and better. Spock, you survived the storm. Remember that. Remember that, and when you're ready, return to us. We'll help you."


	249. Ch 249

I have no control over my emotions.

One minute I rage against the universe and the utter illogic of it all, the next minute the rage leaves me and I am shattered.

I go to the gymnasium and destroy all the equipment there. I want to kill something, but I will not allow my emotion to spin out control to that extent. So I go and pit my strength against the various exercise machines and demolish them.

The first time this happened, everyone in the vicinity stared at me with fear. Someone commed the captain and Dr. McCoy, and they came running.

I do not know how long they stood and watched me tear machines apart. By the time I was done, my chest was heaving and I walked to a wall, completely spent. I sank to the floor and looked at the scattered shreds of equipment and could only think "what have I done. I am going mad."

I am going mad. Even as I go mad, I embrace it. I want revenge. I regret that Jim killed Bateman and his fellows. I regret that justice is left in the sprawling bureaucracy of the Federation. If I could resurrect them, I would, simply so that I could tear them limb from limb. I would resurrect them a hundred times and each time, kill them some new way.

Kroykah. I am a Vulcan. Vulcans do not entertain revenge fantasies. They do not rampage about rooms and raze ship gymnasiums.

I have no control over my emotions.

Jim issued orders quickly and quietly, his captain's mask firmly in place. He walked towards me cautiously. It is right that he should be cautious. I have no control over my emotions, and I might kill him.

"Easy there, Spock. It's okay. Hell, I'm glad you went and did that. Did it feel good?"

I stare at him. He is asking me if this all consuming, completely illogical anger makes me "feel good." I cannot control my emotions, I might kill him in this madness, and he is asking me about feelings.

"You can do that whenever you want. I've got no problem with you destroying everything in this room, if it helps you. I'll take care of all the Starfleet shit. Destroy whatever the fuck you want."

I stand to my feet.

Control.

"That will not be necessary, captain. I am in control of myself now. I sincerely apologize for this irresponsible destruction of property. I will explain to Starfleet and accept the consequences of my behavior."

"Spock," Jim says softly. Heartbreak pours off him in waves.

"I will return to duty, sir."

The next day, I destroy everything in my lab.

I have no control over my emotions.


	250. Ch 250

Why.

Why did this happen.

Was there anything that could have been done to prevent it.

Who am I.

Who was I before this.

Why did this happen to me.

What is this universe.

Why is life worth living.

Why am I still living.

Is there justice in this universe.

What is freedom.

Who am I.

These questions are useless. Cease asking them.

Why.

Why did this happen.

Who am I.

Was it my fault?

Will I ever be clean?

I'm sorry Jim.

Why can't I move on.

I am healed. Then why do I feel all of this, why do I think all of this.

Why do creatures do this to each other.

Is there reason in the universe?

Is there logic?

If there is reason, if there is logic, why did this happen.

Is the universe merely chaos?

Cease asking questions. There are no answers.

Who am I?

Is there good in the universe?

What is life?

What is love?

What is hope?

What is that against hatred and malice?

What is light against darkness?

I am healed. Why am I asking these questions still.

Why do things not return to before.

Why does time pass so slowly.

Why did I go through this.

Is there any meaning to this agony and shame?

Is there a reason behind suffering?

They promise hope and better days in the future.

How do they know?

Why do I keep going.

Why did this happen.

I rage rage against it but there is nothing to rail against. The universe is impersonal. Impassive. Inanimate. No meaning. No significance.

I am compromised.

Is this what it means to be human?

Is this what it means to feel?

I don't want it.

Fight.

Against what.

Will this happen again?

What is the likelihood that this might happen again.

Calculate the probability.

Can this be prevented?

Can these feelings be prevented.

Yes.

Suppress.

Why did this happen.

Who am I.

Is there logic in this universe.

Is there order in this universe.

I never want to feel these emotions again.

Can these feelings be prevented.

Yes.

Kolinahr.


	251. Ch 251

To: Captain James T. Kirk  
From: First Officer S'chn T'gai Spock  
Subject: Resignation

* * *

Captain Kirk,

Please accept this letter as a notification that I am leaving my position as First Officer and Science Officer under your command, to be effective immediately.

I apologize for the abrupt nature of this notification.

Sincerely,

Commander Spock

* * *

"Are you sure you want to permanently delete this file?"

* * *

To Captain Kirk,

I regret to inform you that I am resigning from my position as First Officer and Science Officer aboard the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. My withdrawal from this position is effective immediately.

Thank you for the support and the opportunities you have provided me for the past three years. I have enjoyed my tenure of service under you.

If I can be of assistance during this transition, please inform me. I will help however I can.

Sincerely,

S'chn T'gai Spock

* * *

"Are you sure you want to permanently delete this file?"

* * *

To James T. Kirk,

I would like to inform you that I am resigning from my position as First Officer and Science Officer of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_. I would like my resignation to be effective immediately.

Thank you for the professional and personal development you have assisted me with for the duration of our service together. I hold you in highest esteem and respect. I consider all the crewmembers aboard this ship to be a personal friend or colleague, and their absence will be felt. However, due to recent events, I am not able to fulfill my duties to you any longer, at the standard you expect and deserve. I anticipate that my career will take a different direction and I feel it is time to move on.

Please do not feel that this reflects in any way on you. You are my dearest friend and brother, and I will never forget you.

Sincerely,

S'chn T'gai Spock

* * *

"Are you sure you want to permanently delete this file?"

* * *

Dear Jim,

I am sorry.

Love,

Spock

* * *

"Are you sure you want to permanently delete this file?"

* * *

Dear Jim,

When you find this letter, I will already be gone. I am sorry that I cannot give you a goodbye face to face, as you deserve. If I face you, I know that any resolution I make to leave will disappear and I will return to the _Enterprise_. You deserve much more than I can give, and though it pains me to say it, I am sure you will find another, one who can better return your love.

You already know why I am leaving. I do not know who I am any longer. I do not know if there any logic in this universe. I have searched for answers, I have reached for control of myself and have found neither. I am going to a place which may provide those answers and restore that control. Please do not believe that my departure is in any way your fault. You have stood by me. You have held me in my moments of fear. You have loved me. You have changed me. There are no words for the gratitude and love I feel towards you. I will never forget you.

I will not tell you where I am going, because you are likely to follow after me. But know that wherever I go, your memory will burn bright within me. Know that I will love for the rest of my days. We have not always been friends. But know that I will always be your friend, no matter how time passes.

It has been an honor to serve with you, captain.

Yours,

Spock, First Officer of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_

_

* * *

_

"Are you sure you want to permanently delete this file?"


	252. Ch 252

Remember remember life love and laughter  
Remember remember love laughter and light  
Keep fighting keep living heart beats to remember  
A reason to go in the face of the night.

Remember remember those who so love you  
Remember your mind and your heart and your soul  
Remember the struggle the tears and the shadows—  
This too shall pass and one day you'll be whole.

Evil and hatred the madness of terror  
Agony despair the blackness of pain  
Remember the goodness the pureness the shelter  
Remember the hope and his love once again.

Survive and suppress the fear of tomorrow  
There is a clean place to wash all away  
The filth and the rape and the stench of surrender  
The vileness the dirt wash away in the rain.

You have reason to live you have reason to love  
To continue to thrive to stand without shame  
Forget this place and forget all your sorrow  
They love you they live share your burden your name.

He's here for you near for you yearning with anguish  
To find you to free you to love you to claim  
A kiss from your lips from your hands and to hold you  
Heart beats to remember heart beats to remain.


	253. Ch 253

A crossroads. A decision.

_Remember remember life love and laughter_

Stardust spinning around a newly formed sun.

"Return, S'chn T'gai Spock. There is a place both found and created, to which you must return. Found, lost, created, destroyed, sacrificed, wasted, earned, cherished, despised—reborn in every universe, in every time.

"There are those who wait for you. Leave this grey uncertainty and stand in the light. Return, and take your place."

"_Jina jema hungara gizani_. I love you, ndugu."

"You believe in me?" blue eyes glow in the darkness of the observation deck.

"He has famous song, and ewerything is wrong. He wisits places and nothing is right. And he sings '_yesho raz, yesho raz_.' One more time, one more time. It is not happy, but it is a song. That is all that is needing."

"Professor?" "Cadet Uhura." "You know my name?"

"That's a good man! I knew you always had a keen appreciation for humor, Mr. Spock."

"Good times," Sulu laughs. "De mí sé decir que, después que soy caballero andante, soy valiente, comedido, liberal, bien criado, generoso, cortés, atrevido, blando, paciente, sufridor de trabajos, de prisiones, de encantos; y, aunque ha tan poco que me vi encerrado en una jaula, como loco, pienso, por el valor de mi brazo, favoreciéndome el cielo y no me siendo contraria la fortuna, en pocos días verme rey de algún reino, adonde pueda mostrar el agradecimiento y liberalidad que mi pecho encierra."

"Gift you give I. Hope from slave, two mites from widow woman. All that I have—small weak words. But remember me, for gift you give I."

"My t'hy'la is to me as a cluster of camphire in the vineyards of Engedi."

"I like 'em. You look sexy."

"I would not deprive you of the revelation of all that you could accomplish together. Of a friendship that will define you both, in ways you cannot yet realize."

"If I didn't know better, Mr. Spock, I'd've sworn you were smiling."

"That's what communication is for—the promise that we'll meet you halfway, if you'll bridge the other half of the distance."

"Love's the glue that holds things together, but it only goes so far. The rest is made up of misunderstandings, conflicts, and moments scattered in between where you just stop and realize—this is love. This is life: a fight, a fire, a sorrow, a struggle.

"It gives you courage to bear all things with patience and dignity; it gives you determination to live life to its fullest potential, to strive and strain and persevere from day to day."

It's the brief glint of a star set against the glaring lights of the city. It's an outstretched, empty hand amongst the closed fists meant for fucking and flogging. It's standing tall and sure and choosing while everyone's bent and panting and arcing and screaming and crying from sex or torture or slavery or all three. It's the courage to hope for freedom in a place where no one is free.

_Remember remember love laughter and light_

"Spock. Let me help." Clear blue eyes with blazing with fierce light behind them.

"Who are you?"

"You are fully capable of deciding your own destiny. The question you face is, which path will you choose? This is something only you can decide."

I am Spock.

Light streams through the darkness.


	254. Ch 254

_What think you I take my pen in hand to record?  
The battle-ship, perfect-model'd, majestic, that I saw pass the offing to-day under full sail?  
The splendors of the past day? or the splendor of the night that envelops me?  
Or the vaunted glory and growth of the great city spread around me? –no;  
But merely of two simple men I saw to-day on the pier in the midst of the crowd, parting the parting of dear friends,  
The one to remain hung on the other's neck and passionately kiss'd him,  
While the one to depart tightly prest the one to remain in his arms_.

-Walt Whitman

* * *

"You're sure you don't want me to come with you?"

"Jim, I need to do this for myself."

"You won't disappear."

"I promise you."

"Let me know if you need anything. Anything."

"I will," I kissed him.

He held me tight. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'll be monitoring your frequencies."

"Sir? The taxi is here."

"Guess you'd better go." He kissed me. "I love you."

"And I you."

Jim let go of me and followed me to the taxi. He gave the driver instructions while I settled into the seat. I put the window down and took his hand. We kissed until the car began to speed away and Jim ran alongside until the vehicle outstripped him. I watched his figure until it disappeared behind the traffic of the roads.

I closed the window and stared out into the scene.

This is the planet Zpakeha. It is a highly developed civilization with advanced technology and a singular devotion to the arts. The _Enterprise_ has just finished a diplomatic mission here. I participated partially in the dealings, but had to retire when I became extremely fatigued. The close proximity with so many unfamiliar people was tiring. I was on edge for the duration of the talks.

After I rested, I woke. My energy levels were replenished, but frustration mounted that I was still so visibly effected by the incident. I have been in this state of stupor long enough.

That is why I am here now, in a taxi, on the surface of Zpakeha. The diplomats offered their own private shuttles, but I declined. I wanted to be alone.

I have to do this alone.

* * *

We arrive. Compared to the buildings around it, the building is rather small. I survey the architecture and walk up the stairs. I present my ticket and receive a program. I do not go to my seat immediately, but stand and look up at the ceiling. It is vaulted. Sound echoes through the building, but the arches are not so high that the sound is lost in the space above. Instead, it is reflected back down, pure tones ringing and weaving between the columns.

There is no stage. The chairs of the audience are right before the chairs of the musicians. It is something of an unorthodox arrangement, but it creates a sense of intimacy, an island in the open space of the building. The program indicates that a full orchestra will not be utilized. Instead, different ensembles and the choir will perform the pieces. There is no special lighting, only natural light streaming through a mixture of clear and stained glass windows.

I take my seat.

The musicians file in with their instruments. The members of the chorus file in. The audience is still quietly humming with words and anticipation. When the conductor comes out, there is applause. The sound reverberates against the walls and the vaults, making the space of audience and musicians at once closed and open.

Then.

Music.

Bach and Mozart, cantatas and requiems, concertos, sonatas.

It is indescribable. My katra leaves the boundaries of my body and I soar up to those vaults. The music fills the space, it transcends the limitations of my logic, of my emotions, of my body, of my soul.

It is like water. Golden water pours from the ceiling, flows and wraps around me. Washes away the terror and blunt edge of my memories. I sit and listen, entranced by the voices of the strings and the woodwinds. The notes, the chorus singing, tones arching and entwining, merging into chords, separating to point, counterpoint, harmony, cacophony. A landscape in rhythm, a fluid world created through sound that purifies the very air I breathe. Water infused with gold, falling like a desert rain, soaking into my skin, the sensation liberating. A river at the bottom of a deep amber canyon, water clear and cold, driving away the fear.

The memories, the fear will return, I know.

For now, I am free.

For now, I remember that despite the filth of the universe and the ugliness of people, there is still beautiful music.

* * *

When the concert is over, I am exhausted once more.

I return to the _Enterprise_. Jim is there to meet me. We go back to his quarters. I change out of my clothes, as does he. We attend to our hygenic needs, then I settle into his bed. He lies down beside me. I take him in my arms.

We sleep.

When I wake, I will face the same challenges once again. I will fight the same battle to find myself, to find a reason to stay. Today, I won. Tomorrow I may lose. But I can remember that for a moment, listening to the music, gold water falling from the vaults, I was free.


	255. Ch 255

I would live for the captain.

I will live for the captain, and I will live for myself.

I once said that whatever price I had to pay to live and be with Jim, I would pay it without hesitation and without regret. I believe that all lovers feel this way at some point. Love gives a reckless courage, a sense of invincibility and the conviction that no matter what one experiences, love will conquer all.

I have paid a price. What this payment was extracted for, I do not know. There was no reason or logic behind my rape—there is never any reason or logic behind the violation of an individual. It robs you of your sense of self, destroys your willingness to trust others. It takes away any faith you might have that the universe is good. The abstract notion that people are desecrated every day is suddenly a reality. It is concrete. And it makes you ask, what universe is this that we live in? How do people continue on, after facing such darkness?

I do not have an answer to that question. The simple fact is that I am alive, and I have survived. When you are faced with all consuming despair, what brings you back from the brink?

It is not love.

When you are alone, you cannot remember love. It is overpowered by the indifference that stares at you, swallowed by the abyss that surrounds you. When there is no escape love, life, and laughter are impossible to recall. There is only your self, and the shreds of your identity lying broken at your feet. In that kind of isolation, men go mad.

The simple fact is that I am alive, and I have survived. I counted the minutes, like bullets in my hand, and continued to breathe.

I still have not told Jim of everything that I went through. I do not believe I will ever tell him. I know that he will not reject me because of the abuse that I suffered. If anything, his patience and quiet strength have been supporting me through this, as I rebuild my world. I know that my silence hurts him, but I believe my full disclosure would be more harmful. He already blames himself for so much, when much of this was out of his control. The fact that he found me is miraculous in and of itself. I shudder to think of the possibility if he had been too late—James T. Kirk has remarkable emotional resiliency, but everyone has a breaking point.

I once said that I would undergo anything if it meant I could be with Jim. There is no point in obsessing over what is past, or asking oneself if one would go through the experience again. I would not wish this on anyone else, and the knowledge that it occurs every hour makes me shake. The thought that it could happen to Jim fills me with contradictory feelings—grief, rage, despair, anger. What is this universe that we live in, that intelligent beings can perpetrate such crimes against each other? I never believed that evil existed. I thought darkness was simply the absence of light. Now I find that it is not so.

I will not dwell on the moments I was imprisoned. What is done is done. To continually revisit the past would drive me mad. I am alive, I have survived. What is important now is going forward.

The question is then, having survived the darkness, how do you find the light again? When you have been broken but are still alive, why do you continue to fight? Why do you rejoin the endless, toiling, rending battle that is life?

Part of it is love. Part of it is the knowledge that you have friends and family who support you. They share in your pain and they will carry you through the struggle when you do not have the strength or will to fight. They remind you quietly, with small words and gestures, that there is kindness. There is compassion and goodness, sympathy in the midst of indifference, hatred, evil. They provide a clean place. They give you clothes to cover your shame, they give you food to feed your soul, they give you love to sustain you. The gifts they give you are like drops of water—insignificant and weak compared to the brute force of cruelty. But over time, even water wears away rock. Over time, the taint of rape is washed away.

But love does not heal all. There is only so much that friends and family can do. At some point, you must rediscover how to stand on your own two feet. You must recreate the courage to keep walking. There is no one who can do that for you, though they might long to help. This is the true breaking point that all face—the choice to rebuild, or to shrink from reality.

It is hard to face the pieces of yourself. When the core that seemed to keep everything together is suddenly extinguished, it is difficult to rekindle that fire. I wanted to forget, but that is impossible. I wanted to lose myself in sleep, stay in the oblivion of slumber. There were days when I could do nothing but stay in my quarters and watch my hands shake. I was alternately enraged that I could not recover faster and suddenly depressed by my lack of progress. My emotions were utterly uncontrollable, and that discouraged me further. I longed to be normal, I longed to go back to some indeterminate time before when my sense of self was not shattered.

I considered Kolinahr as a solution to all my problems. To purge myself of all emotion was appealing. I longed for the stability of pure rationality, I wanted a guarantee that I would never feel any of this again. The idea had an almost hypnotic hold over me, and several times I sat down to write my letter of resignation. Several times I wrote it completely, and each time I deleted it.

A memory kept me from sending that letter to Jim and going to Vulcan II.

It is not what Terrans would call a happy memory. But it is the memory from which I draw my strength.

Vulcan, the advanced educational facility in which I was enrolled.

I had completed the evaluation sequence in the learning pod. The majority of students had left the room.

"Spock." Familiar voices, familiar spite.

Anger and defiance rose up, but I quickly suppressed those feelings. "I presume you have prepared new insults for today."

"Affirmative."

I turned around, walked forward, and faced them. There were three.

"This is your thirty-fifth attempt to elicit an emotional response from me." Thirty-five pathetic attempts by mediocre minds, petty children who sought to elevate their status by trampling on others.

"You are neither human nor Vulcan and therefore have no place in this universe."

"Look, his human eyes. They look sad. Don't they."

"Perhaps an emotional response requires physical stimuli." Sy'thlon pushed me backwards with considerable force. "He's a traitor you know, your father. For marrying her, that human whore."

I have always believed that my control snapped at that point. Now, I wonder if that is an accurate assessment of the events.

Sy'thlon was taller and physically stronger than I was. Accounting for this, I pushed him into a learning chamber and put him off balance. I gained an advantage as my movements were controlled, while he was still scrambling to readjust to the change in setting. He hit me, but after that one hit, I decisively gained the upper hand and proceeded to beat him methodically, even as I screamed and cried.

Following the incident, my father told me many things. My mind raced with questions. I could only see his frown and took it to mean disapproval. Looking back, I wonder if it was not disapproval he felt, but a certain anguish, for he concluded our discussion with what I thought at the time was a strange choice of words. Now, I believe them to be appropriate.

"You are fully capable of deciding your own destiny. The question you face is, which path will you choose? This is something only you can decide."

For many years in my early life, my path was chosen for me. I desired the acceptance of my peers and the acceptance of my father above all things, I molded myself strictly to the standards set forth by Vulcan. I conformed, but only to a point. I never groveled. I never begged for acceptance, but sought to prove myself. I desired to be recognized on my own merits, not because I debased myself before others. I was told from all sides that I was inferior in some aspect. As a child, I partially believed them and strove to rid myself of that defect. But even as a child, there was inside me a conviction that I was the equal of any Vulcan. Some part of me, both Vulcan and Terran, embraced my individuality and fiercely hoped, secretly burned to find a place where I would be free and accepted.

When that opportunity presented itself, I chose that path and followed it. Even when my father rejected me for it, even when I endured isolation and estrangement from all I held dear, I remained true to myself and my convictions. I did not find the acceptance I searched for at Starfleet, but I did find respect. There was genuine admiration among students and professors for my scientific and mathematical acumen. Though some derided it because I am Vulcan, this was the exception, rather than the rule. I did not know it then, but the respect I found was the beginning of a long journey: a journey that still continues, a journey I have shared with remarkable beings, a journey I could never have predicted.

I draw strength from that memory because it reminds me who I am, how far I have come since the years of my isolation, and how far there is yet to go. I draw strength from that memory because it shows that I am a fighter. When those around me reject me for who I am, when they attempt to suppress me and dominate me by whatever means, I fight back. I have never submitted to the will of another, I have never betrayed myself. When a challenger, or several challengers, present themselves I do not turn my back on them and cower. I stand and fight with everything I have. I have never chosen the easier alternative and I will not do so now. The only way I can betray myself is to give up.

I will not betray myself. I will not abandon those who love me, I will not grieve those who care for me by running away into the rituals of Kolinahr. I have worked too long, I have striven too hard, to give up on life. They violated my body, carelessly broke me, but I will not let the legacy of their actions consume me. I found the axioms on which I created my own mathematics. I found my thread of truth and defined myself according to that pure standard. I will not let them take that away from me. I did not shrink from Sy'thlon and his taunts then, and I will not begin now.

This road I have chosen will be difficult. I have not fully recovered from all the damages inflicted. There will be days when I will want to turn back—those are the days that Jim, Nyota, Leonard, Pavel, Sulu, Scotty, Christine, will carry me through. Whatever distance I cannot bridge, I know they will help me. That is the confidence that love provides. There will be other days when it seems I am fully healed. Those will be days I can savor, times I can be thankful for. They are promises of the future, of a day when the shadow of rape no longer hangs over me and I stand once again in the light.

Jim swore to me that someday, I will have so many good memories that the memory of this violation will be buried in my mind. I cannot see the day when this will be true, but I will hold him to his promise. I wish I could give back to him more than I can. He is dealing with his own emotions, and his struggles are different from mine. He offers me as much support as he can, but I cannot do the same in return. All of my energy is devoted to pulling myself back together, there is nothing else I can spare.

But I can give him a promise of my own. A promise I made rashly once before. Now that I understand the cost, now that I have paid it and am still paying for it, this vow takes on a new meaning.

I will live for myself, and I will live for Jim.

This shadow will pass. I will breathe freely once more. There will be a day when I live, love, and laugh with Jim. What should have broken me, what should have broken us, will serve to strengthen us, though the experience tastes as bitter gall now. I have fought too long, too hard to give up on my friends and this family we have forged. This love resonates deep within my katra, and I have searched too long to let it slip away into a grey twilight.

For this is life. A fight, a fire, a sorrow, a struggle.

And this is love.


	256. Ch 256

Time passes.

It passes in minutes, inches, bullets, however you want to count it.

Turbolift doors open and close, the transporter beams people up and down, the _Enterprise_ goes in and out of warp. Like the muddy waters of the Mississippi churning from the Great Lakes down to New Orleans, time ripples and pools, forms eddies, erodes the red clay banks, carves down rock with inexorable patience. We go from mission to mission, planet to planet, jumping between stars and rifts, measuring the passing stardates in lightyears, parsecs, the minutes relative to inches, the inches relative to the speed of light, the light like a name burning in darkness.

I don't know how they do it. Jim and Spock, I don't know how they do it.

Any psychologist worth their salt will tell you that trauma's an experience in repetition. One trauma dredges up everything that's happened before no matter how unrelated it might seem, no matter the time or distance. Emotions've got a long memory of their own.

Now, I'm a surgeon, not a psychologist. I know the basics of the subject matter—comes with the territory of being Chief Medical Officer—and I can give that test, use Starfleet's official psychological wellness chart as well as any other monkey. But I'm not trained in psychotherapy. I don't know the treatments you give to patients with serious mental illnesses. I deal with bodies more than brains and when I deal with brains, I use a laser scalpel.

I've seen the way bodies can come back from the most outrageous injuries. Take Sulu. C7, an incomplete spinal cord injury, major damage to the anterior cord. For weeks, he couldn't bend his fingers, let alone move his legs. We had him in diapers, he couldn't control his own bowel movements. Taught him how to use a catheter, I had to perform multiple painful surgeries to stitch his spine back together. Chris put him through the most grueling physical therapy sessions she knew. His body went to hell and back, and then to hell again while we tried to figure out the right mix of drugs to minimize his chronic pain, manage his muscle spasms. There was that one time we almost lost him. Autonomic dysreflexia, brought on by a urinary tract infection.

He took it all in stride.

Or Nyota. Stabbed six times in that nightmare case when Scotty was possessed. They brought her to me, lung punctured in two places, drowning in her own blood, hydrochloric acid seeping from the hole in her stomach. It was as bad a mess as I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot. I used every trick I had to keep her stable, pushed her body and technology to its limits to bring her back. Let me tell you something—that woman's a fighter. She sure as hell was not about to go gentle into that goddamn night. It made my job a little easier. I think Jim rubbed off on her, she was so anxious to get back to that communications station on the bridge.

I think Jim's rubbed off on everyone.

As amazing as her recovery was, you find the measure of her character in the fact that she and Scotty are still together, still going strong. Despite the terror and the trauma and the nightmares I know they both had—and probably still have—you can find them in the weirdest corners of the ship, snuggled up together and trading dirty jokes. It makes Keenser go misty eyed.

Any doctor worth their salt will tell you that not all hurts are visible. Hell, any person can tell you that. Experiences shape us, change us, whether by one punch to the gut like a sledgehammer busting up marble, or a series of scratches, nibbles, little things that gnaw away irrevocably. It's the way things are, the way things have been, the way they'll always be. To some extent, we have no control over how life shapes us, we've got no idea where the hammer's going to fall next. No one has control over every aspect of their existence, and I'm not sure it'd be a good thing if we did. I sure as hell wouldn't be here today if everything had gone the way I wanted. I'd be a different person. Would I be better for it? Would I be worse? I've got no idea.

We might not be able to predict the shit that this universe throws at us—Spock's pretty big on that, with his ten thousand probabilities—and sometimes we get hit with the biggest blackest storm anyone could ever imagine. That's not a reason to give up. That's not a reason to stop living. You find that when the hammer hits the anvil, you're the anvil. You get knocked around and beat up, but in the end it's the hammer that breaks, and the anvil remains. People're stronger than they think they are. They want to live more than they know they do.

Pavel Andreyevich Chekov, age 20. Not seventeen anymore. You wouldn't know it from his age, you wouldn't know it from his face, but that boy has been through a lot. More than most men might see in a lifetime. He comes into Sickbay more than anyone else not because he's wounded or riddled with holes, but to visit. I see him sometimes pause before he goes to the biobed, his face unreadable. I watch him shrug and go forward. Hear him say in that matter-of-fact tone of his that it was Russians who 'inwented' bubblegum. He's never talked about what exactly happened to his brother—not even to Sulu—except that one time I had him on the operating table and he said, loopy and slurring, that his brother always told him not to play Dostoevsky, and how that brother ended up joining Starfleet anyway.

"He was always searching for something. _Ya nye znayu, nashol li on ili nyet. Iskal istinu v'universitetye, i potom_... Stars. He died in Klingon firefight and never told me if he is finding justice in the stars. You know, doctor? The keptan and Mr. Spock, they are like my brother. They are my brothers."

I've seen the look on his face when either Jim or Spock is laid up in Sickbay. And Sulu.

Don't even get me started about Scotty. Ever since he was taken over by Redjac, the man hasn't been the same. It's impossible to be the same, after something like that. He's still a clown, he's still pulling crazy stunts in engineering that have Jim pulling his hair in amusement and worry. But waking up to see your lover bleeding in the streets, your captain almost dead, and you covered in their blood, holding the dagger in your hand? Spock, Chris and I still haven't told him about what happened in the courtroom, and we never will. Those files are sealed, confidential, no one's ever going to get their hands on them. Scotty meets with Chris regularly, to talk and process everything. He and Nyota take time to be good to each other.

I'll admit to being jealous. That's what I wanted to have with my wife, before everything went to pieces.

Sometimes I catch Chris looking at Nyota and Scotty too, the grey in her eyes painfully bright. She doesn't talk about it. I wonder how long it'll be before she lets herself take that risk again.

Then there's Jim and Spock.

Honest to God, I don't know how they do it. Any other person in either of their shoes would've crumbled to dust. The things they've faced, the sheer amount of trauma they've been through? How Jim manages to smile every shift is beyond me. How Spock's able to rebuild his world—I have no idea. Everyone can see it, how each shift is a battle.

A fight, a fire, a sorrow, a struggle.

A name, a light, a laugh, a memory.

A masterpiece.

Let me tell you a story about an artist and his master work. It's short.

Michelangelo carved _David_ out of a block of used marble. Some artist had already taken a chunk out of it and then decided, he couldn't use it. Decided it was ruined. No one else wanted to use it because the dimensions were weird to begin with. It was too thin—if you look at David head on, you can see how skinny the original slab must've been. Too thin, and a chunk missing. That's how David started out.

But in those imperfections, the sculptor saw his vision. Around that gaping hole, he formed David's body, he chiseled out the bend of his waist. You can't see it, the original gap. It's part of negative space now. And in the thinness of the marble, you can see David ready, poised to take down Goliath with a cool confidence and the assurance of his victory. You'd never guess that perfect form was made from a defective piece of stone.

Life grinds us down. It wears us away. Time passes, years pass, youth fades, the feeling that you're invincible slips away. Sometimes reality wages a hard war, sometimes you just want to give up and lay down your arms. Go quietly, go peacefully. Go easily.

I don't know what separates a good human from a great human. I don't know if anyone is truly great in this universe. They've immortalized Jim and Spock, they've made them into symbols and celebrities. They see something in their lives that's compelling, a culmination of all that's good and right and true. They see the masterpiece, _David_ standing tall and serene, an expression of humanity, beauty—whatever you want to call it.

Do they see the negative space? Do they know that _David_ was born from a defect? Maybe a series of defects, an unintended chink here, an accidental crack there. Working, tapping away until the statue finally emerges, defined by the space that surrounds it, the borders made of stone.

But that can't be all. Negative space shapes the statue, but doesn't define it. If it were just a matter of sculpting, _David_ would merely stand, a dumb statue. He's made of stone. But you look at him straight in the eye and try to tell me that piece of marble doesn't take a life of its own. You tell me the adrenaline running in his veins doesn't look more real than the real thing. He doesn't look like _David_, he looks like David. An ideal and a man, bones of rock and flesh of stone. Immortal, capturing a single moment right before battle, before the outcome is known. We know he's going to win. It's a classic story. But David doesn't know. He's writing his own story as he lives it. Facing Goliath without apology.

Then who's the sculptor? Who's the writer of this grand narrative? Some higher power? We've met a lot of higher powers, evolved energy beings and the like. As far as I can tell, none of them have created anything half so complex as any one of the people that serve aboard this ship. I'd rather have Michelangelo as God than some fool like Trelane or those Organians meddling around with the universe.

Who's the artist, who's the writer?

Us, of course. Who else would it be? We sculpt our own lives even as life sculpts us, we write our own stories even as time passes. I watch Spock reorder his universe and I'm amazed by how thorough he is. How relentlessly he examines and reexamines and reconsiders everything under the sun. He wears Jim out sometimes, with all his thinking. Jim wears him out with his constant movement. They clash and grind against each other, plate tectonics smashing into volcanoes and earthquakes.

I've seen a lot of different kinds of love. I feel like I went through practically all the varieties with my wife, from dating to the engagement to the wedding and honeymoon, and to the end.

But Jim and Spock.

I don't know if I've ever seen a love like this. Not sure I'll ever see one like it again. It's practically inhuman. Unattainable. Built in and in spite of the circumstances that surround them.

Time passes, like the muddy waters of the Mississippi going from the Great Lakes down to New Orleans.

Turbolift doors open and close, the transporter beams people up and down, the _Enterprise_ goes in and out of warp. We go from mission to mission, planet to planet, jumping between stars and rifts, measuring the passing stardates in lightyears, parsecs, the minutes relative to inches, the inches relative to the speed of light, the light like a name burning in darkness.

Time passes, life hammering away at the anvil, chiseling away at the marble, over and over, trauma experienced as repetition, grinding away to dust and masterpiece, to death and immortality, some rising to greatness, others falling by the wayside. When everything seems to be too much and you're tempted to glide easily into the darkness, remember—masterpieces are born from defects, defects can become a masterpiece. You find that when the hammer hits the anvil, you're the anvil. In the end it's the hammer that breaks, and the anvil remains.

I don't know how they do it. Jim and Spock, I don't know how they do it. But people're stronger than they think they are. They want to live more than they know they do.

Time passes.

There's a lot of things about life and love I don't understand. But let me tell you one more story and I'll be done here.

A student once asked their instructor, "Teacher, is hope a rational thing?"

The instructor answered, "I don't know if it's a rational thing."

The student looked away.

"But I know it's a necessary thing."

Time passes.


	257. Ch 257

"Spock?"

"Yes?"

"I want to do it. The bond, I want to do it. We should've done it a long time ago."

"Events have proceeded in their course. There is no way to change that."

"We've waited this long, been through all the shit the universe can throw at us. I want to do it."

I kissed him softly.

When we separated, he looked at him, blue eyes searching. He smiled.

"What do you see, t'hy'la?"

"You."

He put his hand to my face.

"Remember way back, right before that crazy Deneva mission where you got infected with that Cellulite thing?"

"I recall that period."

"You said that you thought life was meaningful because we make it meaningful."

"An imprecise summary, but I believe that was the general idea. Why do you bring it up, Jim?"

"Because I think I want to raise the stakes."

"How so?"

"Life is meaningful, Spock, because I have you."

_Without it, can life hold any meaning? Without it, is it possible to hope? We ask of the universe an eternal question: "Is this all that I am? Is there nothing more?"_

_It presents us with an answer._

"Because against all the fucking odds—don't quote them at me, I know they were, probably still are, stacked astronomically high—but despite that, we're alive. You're still here."

He took my hand in his.

Simple feeling. A single touch, clean and whole.

"We'll get through this. I promise you. I promise you."


	258. Ch 258

T'hy'la.

That one untranslatable, ambiguous, arcane Vulcan word captures everything he is to me, and everything I am to him. It means little to anyone else, but between us, it encapsulates all the experiences we have shared, the long hard road we have traveled to get here. It reminds us who we were, it shows us who we are now, and it holds infinite possibilities for who we will be in the future.

At the same time, we do not need the word t'hy'la. We are who we are—we know ourselves and each other. We know what we have together, and no single word in any language in this universe can describe it. It seems to be one of the ironies of language that once one truly understands the meaning of a word, once one has lived that word, one does not need to define it. It simply is. Words are necessary outlines of concepts and objects, but they fall short in so many ways. Jim and I are t'hy'la. That is what others will call us, but to each other, we are ourselves.

We will be remembered by our names, our faces, our deeds and exploits. He will be a symbol, I will be his shadow. They will call us t'hy'la, never understanding what it means, never comprehending its depth. The word provides the outline—they will imagine for themselves the details. Our relationship will be romanticized, caricatured, vandalized, canonized, perhaps immortalized, perhaps forgotten. But no matter the ages, no matter the place and no matter the people, we are ourselves.

We are writing our own love, we are writing our own lives, discovering our own language as we go. A language of mathematics and poetry, of logic and emotion, by which we may express the truths we find and the beauty that lies there.

Tomorrow, we will be bonded.

T'hy'la.


	259. Ch 259

_Sabrás que no te amo y que te amo_

_puesto que de dos modos es la vida,_

_la palabra es un ala del silencio,_

_el fuego tiene una mitad de frío._

_Yo te amo para comenzar a amarte,_

_para recomenzar el infinito_

_y para no dejar de amarte nunca:_

_por eso no te amo todavía._

_Te amo y no te amo como si tuviera_

_en mis manos las llaves de la dicha_

_y un incierto destino desdichado._

_Mi amor tiene dos vidas para amarte._

_Por eso te amo cuando no te amo_

_y por eso te amo cuando te amo._

-Pablo Neruda

* * *

Jim insisted that our closest friends and my family be present to witness our bonding. The healer objected, citing that the technical difficulties of bonding two adults of different species were already considerable. Adding the random components of Terran emotion into the environment could only be counterproductive to the process. He would not compromise on the matter, however.

"It doesn't really surprise me that it'll be hard for you to bond us. That's why I want our crew and his family there. It took us a long time to get to where we are now, and it could never have happened without them. This ceremony isn't just about us—I already know that Spock loves me, and he knows that I love him. The bond's almost like a formality, at this point."

The healer raised her eyebrows. Jim was not deterred.

"I want our crew to be there, to share with us in the experience."

"In the bonding between children, it is traditional for the parents of each child to be present. In the formalization of that betrothal, the family is also present. My t'hy'la's request is simply an extension of the same principle. It may create complications, but we both would prefer the presence of our family, as they have always supported us in every situation. Furthermore, to witness the ceremony of our bonding would give them joy, and it would grieve me to withhold that small measure I might give them as a sign of my deep gratitude."

The healer considered our arguments, then acquiesced. Apparently, Jim had another request.

"Before we start the bonding, can I say something?"

She turned to Jim and stared at him evenly. It was somewhat amusing to watch Jim simply return her look and offer a well reasoned explanation.

A surge of pride, mixed with affection. This is the man with whom I will be bonded.

"It's a tradition at human weddings to exchange vows. I'd like to add a human component to the ceremony. For us, the vow confirms and seals the love between two people. We usually have to make do with words and promise to keep them—I'm incredibly lucky that we're going to be linked. But I'd like to give him my vow all the same."

"Jim, I have not prepared any words for such a vow. Why did you not inform me of your intentions before?"

"It's okay. I just want to say something, that's all. You don't have to say anything."

"T'hy'la."

He kissed me.

I resolved to find the words.

"If it is desired of both parties, I can discover no objection to the verbal exchange of promises. Captain Kirk, Spock, at this time I must separate you to prepare your minds for the bonding. Those whom you wish to be present for the ceremony will be informed. Captain Kirk, please follow me."

I went back to my chambers. I performed several meditative exercises, then conducted a full diagnostic sequence to map the points of my mind in which Jim would be anchored. He will not be connected to the whole of my mind. Though we are t'hy'la, we are individuals, and it is the combining, rather than the complete unification, of our disparate elements that creates our infinite diversity and makes us more than who we are.

A garment lies on the table. My father informed me that T'Pau had it commissioned for me on short notice. The robes are black and rich blue, with subtle gold accents. I find the colors appropriate. There are small details embroidered into the cloth, details that I am surprised to find. There is the crest of our ancient house, the Star of David—for my mother, the Starfleet emblem, and the Vulcan kol-ut-shan. Even more impressive, I realize that the gold woven into the black cloth contains a representation of the Lorenz attractor, while the gold within the blue outlines part of the Mandelbrot set fractal. I am amazed by how accurately these two mathematical images symbolize us—Jim as the Lorenz attractor, the essential dynamical system that exhibits chaotic flow, and myself as the Mandelbrot set, a set whose boundary never simplifies. All of these details are hidden within the garment itself. From a distance, it appears austere and restricting.

There is another detail that Jim will enjoy. The construction of the garment is rather convoluted. He will have to puzzle through the process of undressing me.

Jim will be garbed in his dress uniform, as is only appropriate. Changing into the robes, I find that I am calm. There is a deep surety in me. I am not thinking about the past, I do not speculate about our future. For now, I live completely in the moment, feeling the smooth cloth coming over my shoulders, folding the robes methodically, as though I wear such elaborate pieces every day. Before long, I am fully dressed, and someone comes to escort me to the ceremonial grounds.

They have set up a tent and chairs as a courtesy to the Terran guests. Nyota, Leonard, Pavel, Sulu, Scotty, Christine, are already there. George Samuel Kirk, his wife Aurelan, and their daughter Zora are sitting to the side. My father, T'Pau, and various members of our clan are present, as is the healer-priestess who will bond us. Ambassador Selek looks on, the expression on his face unreadable.

There is a raw quality to the area. On Vulcan, our ceremonial grounds had been kept and cultivated for generations through the ages. Every rock, every plant, every structure was arranged for a purpose, with specific meaning. The ancient circle of fire glowed with crystals specially quarried and cut. Here on the colony, the ceremonial grounds lack several features. The rocks that would typically encircle the area are only half complete. Instead, the space opens into the wide desert and the infinite expanse of sky beyond. There is no sign of civilization. The red desert lies before us untamed and undisturbed. It almost seems to call to us, beckon us into its endless sands, its depth and the hidden oases we might find there. The sky extends over us, the promise of other horizons. The sun ignites the scene with brilliant light. High, unreachable clouds above inspire quiet awe, reminding us of our limited bodies, the finite nature of our existence. A dry wind rushes over the land, as if the sky is reaching down to touch the desert.

The moment passes. Jim has arrived. The healer walks to the circle of fire. Jim and I follow. We kneel, facing one another. Our friends and family are before us, the desert and sky are behind us. I raise my hand, as does Jim. Our fingers touch.

"What we are about to witness comes down from the Time of the Beginning, without change. This is the Vulcan mind, this is the Vulcan katra. This is our way, like the constant laws which govern our universe." the healer intones. "Yet what we are about to witness comes only from this time, a time of change. This is the Terran heart, this is the Terran soul. To constantly evolve is their way, and it is also a truth of our universe.

"Captain, you may say your words."

Jim looks at me, his blue eyes brilliant. Through our contact comes the whispered word _t'hy'la_.

"You must know that I do not love you and that I love you,  
because everything alive has its two sides;  
a word is one wing of silence,  
fire has its cold half.

"I love you in order to begin to love you,  
to start infinity again  
and never to stop loving you:  
that's why I do not love you yet.

"I love you, and I do not love you, as if I held  
keys in my hand: to a future of joy—  
a wretched, muddled fate—

"My love has two lives, in order to love you:  
that's why I love you when I do not love you,  
and also why I love you when I do."

He smiles, the expression at once intimate and teasing. The healer, we both know, is puzzled by the incongruity of his words. But I will keep these words, this day, the light in his eyes. This man, this contradiction—this question and answer. How can he say so little and explain everything at once?

"Spock, you may say your words."

The only words I can say. The words that began our friendship so long ago, though I did not—could not—know it then.

"Entreat me not to leave thee, and to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God;

"Where thou diest will I die, and there will I be buried; the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me."

Jim's face is somber. His eyes burn. Our touch—he feels humbled. My words send his heart soaring even as the grim reality that we may both die in our line of work mutes that joy. He knows that even if we do not die fulfilling our duties, I will outlive him. When he dies, nothing can prevent our bond from snapping and returning to the darkness. That I choose to bond with him despite these facts humbles him to his very core.

I look straight into his eyes and remind him that this is our wedding day. There is a time and place for such thoughts, but not today, the day of our bonding. As he often says, we will cross that bridge when we get there. Today, we celebrate and are happy, today we are joyful because we have everything anyone could possibly want. Today we are the richest men in the universe, standing side by side with the desert and sky spread before us. We have known deep sorrow, we have felt heart stopping fear, we have seen death in all its ghastly forms. Today is a day to live and laugh, a day to build something pure and good that will sustain us and those around us. The universe seldom gives days such as these—we earned this and bought it. Now let us enjoy it.

Jim nods imperceptibly. Then he gets a roguish look on his face. Suddenly, an erotic buzz travels through my fingers up my arm. _Enjoy it, huh?_ he asks innocently. _About that bed you promised to find._

Neither of us are paying any attention to the words of the healer. Flashes of his thoughts come through. He is already studying my garment, imagining the process of undressing me _or maybe I should watch you undress yourself_ and making love with the added benefit of our bond _two words: mind blowing_. I know he can feel my exasperation.

_At times I believe you do this to simply to annoy me_.

_You didn't figure that out before?_

_Jim._

_Okay, I'll stop. For now._

We are asked to stand. Jim and I rise in unison. I place my fingers on his psi points, and he carefully, with some uncertainty, places his fingers on mine.

_My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts._

And suddenly I feel it taking shape, the bond between the two of us. I know consciously that the healer is guiding the bond to the specific points in our mind, but I cannot feel any presence there. It is as though it is guiding itself, naturally finding strongholds and anchoring itself smoothly. With each new connection, my mind opens up more and more, and it is as though I am being led to a gateway into another universe. Another universe where Jim is waiting.

The desert and sky around me consume my vision. The image of the healer, the fire, the semicircle of rocks, everything disappears and the blazing light of day is transformed to the darkness of night. Above, the galaxy is spread before me. It seems that I can touch the stars, it seems that they are lightyears upon lightyears away. The lights twinkle, they flash across the sky. I can identify each star, I make note of the different solar systems and name their constituent planets. The desert air is cool, the ground under my feet radiates heat stored from the daytime. Everywhere there is silence, like the deep and profound silence of space.

Suddenly I realize that the arrangement of the stars is one I never thought I would see again.

These are the constellations I gazed on as a child on Vulcan. I look around and there is no sign of my former home. Only the red desert is there, stretching as far as the eye can see.

It beckons. A soft wind whispers for me to walk forwards and find whatever is in store for me there.

I do not hesitate. I walk, knowing innately which direction I should go. There is no fear as I journey across the sands. The stars are above me, steady and constant. The silence is comforting. It is the sound that dreams—the best dreams—are made of. A breeze like a human breath caresses my body, wraps around me and goes past. Within each wind is a message—a word, a feeling.

I walk. I do not know how long I walk, but I continue walking, my feet marking out a soft and steady cadence on the desert, like the rhythm of a heart beating. Everywhere around me, there is the feeling of Jim's presence. I wonder where he is, I wonder what form his journey takes.

Unbidden, thoughts rise. I remember my mother. She walks at night across the sands of Vulcan, her head uncovered and her hair flowing. She reaches down and examines a plant growing wild by the wayside, then continues on. The lights of our house are distant and she finds the star system of Terra. It follows her as she walks to a small oasis, where she has planted a rose bush. The flowers are closed, but one is half open, its petals softly illuminated by the light of stars.

My father walks in the heat of day, fully robed and ever stoic. The entrance to the Katric Ark lies ahead in the distance. His feet move in the that direction, but his eyes ever go towards the sky, to the space beyond. He moves steadily over the cliffs and jagged peaks with practiced ease, his eyes turned to the horizon.

I think of Nyota. She is running across the wide plain in Kenya. She is silhouetted against the fiery setting sun, she is barely visible as she chases the Milky Way. Her pace never increases or decreases, her long legs carry her across the dry grasslands to another place, to a watering hole where she, graceful like a gazelle, rests a while. Then begins to run again.

I think of Leonard. He stands on an old American Civil War battlefield. It is nighttime. The grass grows high. The sound of insects chases away the silence, there are dark corners were trees stand together. The air cool with moisture, and the slight scent of magnolia trees. He walks in a field once soaked in blood, periodically stopping and looking up at the sky.

Then Pavel. The Siberian plain is frigid, covered with snow. The sky is a gradient of color, ranging from blue to pink to blazing red. Cirrus clouds are streaked across like the strokes of a paintbrush. Pavel is walking across that icy desert, one foot in front of the other in the glittering white snow. The wind is relentless but he simply walks forward, toward the setting sun and into the horizon.

There is Sulu. He stands on the docks in San Francisco, looking out into the bay. The dark water glitters as the lights of the city catch on the waves. Beyond, there is the Golden Gate Bridge. But Sulu walks along the water, his eyes focused on the point where the sky and water merge into a single sheet of blackness and light.

Montgomery Scott. He stands at the top of a hill in Scotland. The land is covered with fog, and where the grey mist parts, there is green. Scotty descends down into a valley and ascends again. He makes his way across the countryside, climbing over rocks, resting on boulders. The sky above is grey, promising light rain. He continues on his way.

Christine Chapel. She walks along the borders of a military base. It is nighttime, lights emanate from the surrounding houses. The street lamps obscure the view of the stars and vehicles periodically pass by. The night is warm and the air of this temporary home comfortably foreign. She inhales deeply, then exhales and turns her grey eyes to identify the new positions of the constellations.

I continue walking. The desert is unchanged. It stretches without interruption. The stars above are bright and cold, holding their position in the sky. The red silt is warm and familiar. I remove my shoes and walk on that sand, recalling the texture of the fine grains against my feet. The air stirs again and enfolds me, then skims the desert floor like the breath of a lover on the skin of his love.

Then, I come upon a canyon, like the ones I explored on Vulcan. Deep ridges and high cliffs carved out over time by a river. While most of canyons of Vulcan are dry, I hear the sound of water against rock. I descend into the depths. My view of the sky becomes limited, but whenever I look up, the stars are still there. I follow the twisting and turning path of the river, going upstream to find its source. The journey leads me to a fount of water emerging from an impassable canyon wall. I kneel and dip my hand in the cool, flowing liquid and take a drink from that spring.

A wind touches me again urges me to follow the river back out of the canyon. My feet lead me, step by step, on the red rock. The stars are reflected in the waters, they seem to dance as the water moves and changes the image of the sky. The night is still deep and silent, except for the sound of the water flowing over rock. When I finally reach the opening, there is a figure of a man, his back to me, staring at the stars.

I walk towards him, feet unshod.

"Have you waited here long?"

He turns to face me. His eyes are brilliant blue, glowing with their own light and force. He, too, is barefoot.

"No. I just got here," he paused. "Is this it? Is this the end?"

"I am uncertain."

"I kind of thought it would be different."

"How so?"

"I don't know. I didn't think it would be so concrete."

"I admit that I am also surprised by what I have experienced."

He smiles. "It doesn't matter. As long as you're with me."

I close the distance between us and take his hand as he kisses me.

The world stills.

Then, in an explosion of thought and emotion, everything shatters and the desert and sky transform into impressions, colors and sounds, memories and word, things unspoken things understood things won and lost and found, the thrill of joy the weight of sorrow a heartbeat a breath of air the stars and a supernova exploding out stardust spinning around a newly formed sun the hum of the warp core the silence of space the light the universe at our feet the space like water the water like tears the tears like rain the rain like flowers blooming in a desert the desert like my skin the sky like his love the stars like our fate the destiny of two hearts and minds entwined and his soul and my katra touching and the bond flaring to life love laughter light his soul and my katra touching palm to palm mouth to mouth hearts beating minds connected logic stretching to infinity emotion contained in unity his soul my katra touching an infinitesimal moment an eternal interval and at the core burns hope and freedom freedom and hope beauty and purity and in the center of it all

a fight, a fire, a sorrow, a struggle

When the explosion settles and everything returns to their new places, the bond remains. And underneath the revelations, underneath the fireworks and wave of impressions, there is only one thing left to say.

It is like coming home.


	260. Ch 260

_Spock's Brain_

"Fascinating. Activity without end, but with no volition."

"Spock? Spock, don't tell me that's you."

"I am incapable of lying, as you well know."

I heard Jim snort.

"Fuck. It's you. Great."

"I have come to the conclusion that I have been integrated into a computer."

"How's it feel, you hobgoblin, finally with your own kind?"

"There is a definite pleasurable experience connected with the hearing of your voice, doctor. My programming must need repair."

"Spock where are you?"

"I am uncertain, ndugu. None of you have been effected by this?"

"They took your brain. God. I'm bonded to a computer. Spock, I can _hear_ the binary. Is there a way to tone it down?"

"Is that better?"

"Yeah. Thanks. Do you have any idea where they might be keeping your brain? I've got your body. Bones did some surgery thing—listen, it's freaking me out. You walk like a zombie. I want you back."

"It may be difficult to do so. I may trust Leonard to remove a splinter to lance a boil, I do not believe he has the knowledge to restore a brain."

"Thanks for your confidence."

"No denigration intended, Leonard. The skill does not yet exist in the galaxy."

"I'll find a way, damnit. When've I not?"

* * *

"Congratulations, Leonard. And thank you."

"You're welcome. How're you feeling, Jim?"

"Like you just reconnected Spock's brain to his body. Dizzy."

"And you, Spock?"

"On the whole, I believe I am quite fit. Fascinating. A remarkable example of a retrograde civilization. At the peak, advanced beyond any of our capabilities and now operating at this chaotic and primitive level which you saw. It all began thousands of years ago when runaway warming occurred. This complex was developed for the most promising children so that the society might be preserved, but the genetic pool was too small and it seems that several of the children were carriers for autism. Unable to socialize and cohere yet possessing remarkable mental facilities, a schism between the survivors above and this protected population before. A fascinating cultural development—"

"I knew it was wrong. I shouldn't've done it."

"What, Bones?"

"I should never have reconnected his mouth."

* * *

_The Enterprise Incident_

"Jim, you look extremely..."

"Vulcan?"

"Disturbing."

"You don't like my ears?

"Somehow they do not look aesthetically agreeable."

"I kind of like them."

"Scotty, you must stop smiling. Romulans are not knowing jokes. You are going to blow our cower."

"I'm wearing pointed ears, lad. And Nyota shaved my eyebrows. And you look like an elf. Spock, are you sure that Romulans have curly hair?"

"I haf a tattoo! It is wicious!"

I raised an eyebrow.

"We may have to shave his hair."

Sulu entered.

"Have you seen? Yota looks _hot_ as a Romulan."

"Watch your mouth, Sulu. That's my girl you're talking about."

"The object of this mission is locate the rumored replication of Red Matter, not impress the Romulans by your successful impersonations."

"If Scotty is continuing his giggling, they will know immediately."

Nyota walked in.

"Everyone reviewing their Romulan? I don't hear you practicing."

There was silence. Nyota was—there is no other word for it—_stunning_ as a Romulan. She is graceful, exudes an aura of power and menace, and has an exquisite understanding of the language.

"What? Is there something wrong with my tattoo?"

"No. Nothing. You're perfect," Jim smiled. "Okay. Let's go over the plan one more time."

* * *

"Do you have a thing for Vulcanoids or something?"

"It is fortunate that Romulan telepathy is not as developed as its Vulcan counterpart, else their Commander could have learned much more from you."

"Jim, Spock, calm down. All I did was kiss her."

"After she figured out you were human."

"We got what we needed. Scotty got all the files for the Red Matter prototype."

"Nyota, I share a bond with a Vulcan—I know what an emotionally compromised Vulcanoid looks like. That Commander looked pretty fucking devastated. And this," Jim gripped my hand, "is a pretty intense kiss."

"I did what I needed to do, captain."

Silence.

"You love Scotty?"

"Absolutely."

"Because I don't want his heart getting crushed or something. That's not cool."

"Jim, you of all people should know that _it was a job_."

A pause.

"All right. All right. We're never talking about this again. I never saw whatever that was on the bridge."

* * *

_The Paradise Syndrome_

"Makkoi, it is true. It is true, you are safe, love."

"Hush, Ahnee. I'll get you fixed right up, don't you—don't you—" Leonard gathered up the woman in his arms and pressed her to him, shoulders shaking.

"My chief. My brave chief, you saved our people. I knew you would. Didn't I tell you?"

"Hey keptan—" Pavel entered.

Jim shook his head sharply.

"When I am better, it will be as it was, will it not? You can take me to your longboat in the sky."

"Miramahnee, don't go. Don't go, please, goddamnit. God _damnit_!"

Her voice was weak and fading.

"We will live long and happy lives. We will have strong daughters and strong sons. I'll love you always, each kiss as the first. Kiss me, love. Each kiss as the first."

Silence.

"God. _GOD_!"

"Bones. Bones, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Jim."

"We tried to get here as fast as we could, I swear."

"It's not your fault."

"But... but she was your wife. They made you medicine chief. You were going to have—"

"Look, I just need some time to myself."

"Doctor?"

Leonard looked at Pavel.

"_Ya ob odnom mol'yu, taskuya: O bud' so mnoi—nye uhodi._"

* * *

_And the Children Shall Lead_

"Tomas, wait. I want to ask you a question. Is that okay?"

"Question about what?"

"About what you saw down there."

"Oh," a blank look. "What about it? You were there, weren't you?"

"Did you see your dad?"

"I dunno. Yeah."

"Did he seem upset?"

"Maybe. I dunno."

"Why was he upset?"

"I dunno. I didn't ask. He's always in his lab."

"Do you remember anything, anything odd or out of place?"

"No. He was always upset."

"Come on, Tomas, work with me here. You don't remember seeing anything weird?"

"They were angry. I dunno. Can I go? I'm tired."

"Yeah, just two more questions. Are you okay with leaving Triacus?"

"Duh. I hated it there. It was boring."

"Do you know where your parents are?"

"No. Probably in the lab. They love the lab. Can I go now?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you can go."

Jim watched the security personnel escort Tomas back to his quarters.

_He's hiding something. I know kids like him_.

?

_He's got that look. That blank look I had after Tarsus and the counselors were trying to get me to talk. This isn't going to end pretty._

_

* * *

_

"I command you! I command you! To your posts! Carry out your duties, or I will destroy you! You will be swept aside to make way for the strong!"

"Oh shut up. Stop embarrassing yourself and shut up, or I'll pull Chekov's Law on you."

Christine stood to the side, the children huddled around her.

"It's all right. You're safe now, we'll take care of you. That ugly ghost can't hurt you anymore. Don't be afraid, it'll okay to cry."

"Death! Death to you all! Death to you all! Death to you all! Death to you all!"

"Chekov?"

"Aye keptan. Gorgan—I am asking you a question. Are you omniscient, omnipotent, and eternal?"

"I build empires! I create generals! I raise armies of followers! The victories are mine and all who oppose me shall be exterminated! I am all powerful! You will see, you will _see_!"

"Well, there's our answer."

"I am thinking that we should subtitle this entire mission Star Trek: The Search for Non-Idiotic God. If there is such a thing."

"Probably not."

* * *

_Is There No Truth in Beauty?_

"The things I do for my ship. You know this is basically a threesome we've got going here?"

"Captain, I am wholly contained in Spock's mind. He allows nothing of your bond to touch me, and I am careful to avoid it. It would be gravely inappropriate."

"Spock?"

"I am here, Jim."

"... I don't like sharing you."

"It will hopefully be of short duration."

"Then let's head up to the bridge."

I could feel Kollos' anticipation to experience Miranda through my sense of sight. We entered the bridge.

"Why, this is delightful. I know you," I heard him say. "All of you—Leonard McCoy, friend and half-brother? There seems to be some controversy on this point. Uhura, whose name means freedom. 'She walks in beauty, like the night.'"

"That's not Spock."

"Are you surprised that I've read Byron, doctor?"

"Glad to see you've still got your Vulcan sass."

"I also recall—Hikaru Sulu. 'Se armó de todas sus armas, subió sobre Rocinante, puesta su mal compuesta celada, embrazó su adarga, tomó su lanza, y, por la puerta falsa de un corral, salió al campo.'"

"It's an honor to have you with us, Kollos sir."

"A pleasure, an absolute pleasure."

"Am I addressing the Ambassador Kollos?" Nyota asked.

"In part. That is, part of us is known to you as Kollos. We will answer to either name, depending whom you desire to address."

"Understood."

"Miranda. Miranda, the truth of such beauty. 'O brave new world, that has such creatures in it.'"

"'Tis new to thee."

"I will take you to my world—I have long desired it. Captain Kirk, I speak for all Medusans, and sincerely apologize for the complications my presence has created for your ship and crew."

"We don't hold you responsible for what happened, and thank you for your help."

"Then I shall proceed with navigation. With your permission, captain."

* * *

"How compact your bodies are. And what a variety of senses you have. This thing you call language, most remarkable. You depend on it for so very much, but is any one truly its master? Even Spock, with his scientific grasp on its nuances and varieties. But most of all, the aloneness that once filled his life. It tormented him, and he did not even understand the source of that emptiness. And now—he has you, all of you. Not simply the link with his captain, but the emotional bonds built with this crew."

Silence.

"Kollos, we appreciate your words. But out of respect for my bondmate—I ask that you dissolve the link."

"So soon?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps it is best. Yes, it is best."

"Thank you."

"Captain, the visor—!"

"Fuck—" _Spock don't look don't look don't look_

Jim screams.

* * *

_Specter of the Gun_

"I really don't get this. What's High Noon? Why does Bones have a tin star pinned to his chest?"

"I think you look quite dashing, captain. And you too, Leonard," Christine laughed, taking off her bonnet.

"What's with Spock's getup? You look—you look good. Kind of exotic, actually."

"Are you serious? Y'all've never seen _High Noon_? It's a goddamn classic."

"Nope."

"Let me spell it out. I'm Marshal Will Kane, you're Harvey Pell, Jim. Chris, you're Amy Fowler and Spock," Leonard bowed his head. "Spock's Helen Ramirez, as far as I can tell."

"And you need to shoot Frank Miller dead?"

"Yeah, that's the idea, Jim."

"Amy Fowler? You mean to say that I'm Grace Kelly?"

"Yup."

Christine touched her hair.

"I'm flattered. This dress is a little old fashioned, I have to say, but it's beautiful, for something made entirely of an illusion."

"I can't believe you're Harvey, Jim. The irony's enough to make me kill me."

"I believe we should search for a method by which we may break this illusion."

"Said Helen."

I raised my eyebrow at Jim. He grinned.

"You're hot."

"All right, I know y'all're in love and all, but I'm _not_ going to stand around watching you reenact some cowboy with a Mexican señorita love story. That's the last thing I need."

"I am hardly a 'Mexican señorita', doctor."

Christine looked at me with her head tilted.

"If I remember the movie correctly, Helen was Will's lover."

"What?!"

"I was going to try and keep that part quiet, Chris."

"And Harvey's lover. And Frank's."

"Spock, is there something you want to tell me?"

"Jim."

"All right, okay."

"At this rate, Nyota's going to be Frank or something."

"_Enterprise High Noon_. I'd like to see that."

"Well, Chris, you just might get your wish. Here comes the town."

* * *

_The Day of the Dove_

"Baroner, we meet again."

"Hey Kor, what's up? How's raping and pillaging these days in the Klingon Empire?"

"Fair. The Empire has not forgiven your Lt. Chekov for winning Sherman's Island."

"You were the ones who tried to cheat, not us. And I didn't know Klingons were terrified of tribbles."

"The sound they emit is extremely painful to Klingon ears."

"Yeah, I'm going to believe that line."

"Actually, captain, I did some research into the matter and tribbles were once common in the Klingon Empire. However, they were also convenient carriers of a disease not dissimilar to Terra's bubonic plague. The disease swept through the Empire and is one of the factors that has contributed to its state today."

"Wow. That sucks."

"Klingons despise tribbles, constantly feeding and multiplying, yet spreading disease wherever it goes."

"Now I feel like I should go apologize to that guy—what's his name? Koloth. Do you know him, Kor? We transported all the tribbles into his bridge."

"Do not apologize. The Empire has not forgiven you for winning, but we appreciate all methods of warfare."

"Biological warfare is hitting below the belt, don't you think?"

"If they were disease ridden, the Empire would have declared war," Kor nodded. "Unfortunately, they were not. It was an admired tactic. You fight strangely, Baroner, but you fight with honor. Klingons admire you."

"Good to know. What do you think? Think we can get rid of this ghost, live to fight another day? I'm still waiting for a fair fight, your ship against mine, equally matched."

"I am also. Lead the way, Kirk. We will get rid of this ghost."

* * *

_For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky_

"If you don't tell them, Chris, I will."

"Leonard, it's my choice and I don't want—captain. Commander."

Scotty, Nyota, Sulu, and Chekov filed in as well.

"What is it? What's the emergency?"

Leonard gave Christine a pointed look. Her grey eyes were hard.

"You might as well know, if he's going to force my hand. We've completely physicals for the entire crew."

"And? What's wrong, Chris?" Sulu asked.

"Nothing's wrong. Everyone's fine, except for one exception. We've been running tests all day—"

"Chris has—"

"Leonard so help me God if you're going to force this on me let me tell this on my own terms."

He was silent.

Christine seemed to take hold of herself and blink back tears.

"I have xenopolycythemia," she said suddenly.

There was no reaction. No one understood the nature of the disease.

"Um, that is bad, _da_?"

"It's a terminal illness with no known cure," she said, voice quiet. "I've got a year to live."

Silence.

"No," Nyota said, voice firm. "No. You're a sister to me and we'll find a cure."

"Nyota, don't—"

"She right," Sulu answered. "We're not going to lose you. _I'm_ not going to lose you—"

"You're making this so much harder than it needs to be. Please, just," Christine shuddered. "I haven't—I need—it's not that simple—"

She turned away.

Silence. No one knew what to do.

"Lads, Nyota darling," Scotty said quietly. "We've all got good intentions, but we aren't doing any good right now."

He began herding everyone out of Sickbay.

"Doctor, you come too. Give her some peace."

"Nurse Chapel?" I asked quietly.

"Yes, Commander?" her voice was shaky and tears were already streaming down her cheeks.

"If there is any way that I might assist you, please do not hesitate to ask."

She nodded, then sobbed. Then shakily put her arms around me.

"I'm so scared, Spock. I'm so scared. I want to live. I want to _live_."

I held her close.

"I know."

* * *

"Captain, she's not coming back with us," Sulu said over the communicator.

"What the hell happened to my chief nurse? What'd they do to her?"

"Leonard, she fell in love," Nyota answered.

"What?"

"There's a ceremony going on right now to marry her with the High Priestess Natira. They look happy together."

"She's got a terminal illness, Nyota."

"I think she already knows that, Doc."

"Discussion of Nurse Chapel's illness and her sudden relationship will have to be discussed at a later time. At this moment, our first priority is to the trajectory of their planet-ship. It is still on collision course with Daran Five."

"I thought Scotty said we could nudge it off course with some well placed rockets," Nyota said. I could hear her frown.

"The size of their planet-ship is such that with our current resources, any change in momentum created by such a strategy would be negligible. They must change their course."

"You said that Chris is getting married to their high priestess?"

"Yeah."

"Do you think she could convince her to change course?"

"She's tried. They keep talking about their great Oracle. We haven't made any headway."

"Keep trying. And about that data you guys sent us—"

"My calculations on their path—if we are account for assumptions about welocity and applying Miguellan Theorem—is they are from old Fabrini system. DNA mitochondrial analysis results are werifying hypothesis."

"And I'm working with Spock through those medical files you got me. We'll find something. Tell Chris that."

* * *

"Come with me, Natira."

"No. I can't."

"The Oracle doesn't have power over you anymore. You don't have to be afraid."

"It's not fear, Christine. I love you, but I can't go with you. I have a responsibility to my people, as High Priestess, just as you feel an obligation towards yours. We both must honor our vows."

"Then I'll stay with you. Your people cured me, and I am your wife."

"You will always be my wife, but you must return to them. I cannot take you, not today. Perhaps another time, Christine. Wait for me, as I will wait for you. Wait for me, and if the Oracles are willing, you will find Yonada again."

* * *

_Turnabout Intruder_

"You are not the captain."

The imposter's eyes widened. Dr. Lester was leaning casually against the wall.

"I told you it wouldn't work," she tapped her head. "Mental link. Can't fake that shit."

"Spock, I don't know what you're talking about. Are you well?"

"Look, Janice, you don't even speak like me. It's never going to work. If you switch our bodies back right now, we won't bring you up on charges."

"Jim, you do not speak for us both."

"Do you _want_ me to stay in her body for the rest of time?"

"Of course not."

"Then don't argue with me right now."

"Security, arrest this man. He's emotionally compromised."

No one moved.

"Why aren't you following my orders! I said to escort Mr. Spock to the brig for insubordination."

_This is a little painful to watch._

_It is extremely painful to watch, Jim._

"Captain? Do you want us to arrest—you?"

"Janice, just tell me how you transferred our bodies in the first place and we'll work everything out afterwards."

"I am not Janice Lester!"

"Spock, is the unethical for you to meld with my body when it's being occupied by another person?"

"I am your husband. Your body is part of me as much as mine is a part of yours."

"I meant legally."

"That is the law among Vulcans. Or shall I remind you that we were married under Vulcan law?"

"Great! So why don't you figure things out?"

"It is unethical, however, to extract information from an individual's mind without that person's consent."

"And there's the line I was looking for. All right. I guess we'll have to beam onto the ship and ask Bones about it."

* * *

"Give it a few hours."

"...And?"

"And it'll go away. You'll be in your body again."

"That's it?"

"That's what my tricorder says."

"You don't seem that worried about this. Bones, I'm in the body of another person right now."

"Jim, you're breathing, walking, and talking. As far as I'm concerned, that's a good thing in my books."

"Even if it's _not in my body_."

"You've been out of body so many goddamn times, it doesn't bother me. Now get. I've got work to do."

"I want a second opinion."

"Feel free. M'Benga's in the other room," Leonard said absentmindedly. He continued working through his datapads.

Jim pouted. It was strange to see the expression on another's face.

"He doesn't even think this is a big deal!"

"It is not the most unusual thing that has happened on this ship, Jim."

"You don't think this is a big deal either!"

I held a neutral expression.

"Fine," Jim said, voice somewhat petulant. I'll go wait in my quarters for this to wear off."

"You go do that, Jim."

"How long will it be?"

"A few hours, maximum."

"A few hours?!"

"Don't whine. It could be worse. Sleep it off and you'll be waking up in the brig in no time."

"Thanks. Thanks a lot," Jim rolled his eyes. "Spock, you coming with me?"

"I will be on the bridge."

"No sympathy from anyone," he grumbled. "I'll see you on the other side."

Jim left.

"Don't look at me that way. He's your husband."

I put my hand to my forehead. Jim was sending various complaints to me through our link.

"I am aware of this."

"Gotta love married life, Spock. Gotta love it."


	261. Ch 261

The end of our five year mission.

* * *

All good things must come to an end.

"Are you shitting me? _All_ of you are being transferred off the _Enterprise_?"

"They're giving me the _Excelsior_," Sulu stared at the datapad, then looked up. "I'm a captain."

"I am joining him on _Excelsior_, Chief Science Officer and Lt. Commander. Someone else is being commander," Chekov grinned at Sulu. "I haf your back."

"I've been promoted to captain of the _Ahwahnee_," Nyota said softly. "I didn't think they'd promote us all like this. I haven't even been through command school."

"You don't need command school," Jim replied. "You and Sulu probably know more than their graduates anyway. That's not what I have a problem with."

"I figured I'd get promoted, but to commander, tops," Sulu protested. "They're giving me a ship?"

Nyota nodded.

Jim looked at them, eyes bright.

"You'll build a crew that steps up to the plate every single time," he looked away. "Just like you guys did for me. I have every confidence in that."

"Jim—"

"No. You guys are the best. Starfleet needs more officers of your caliber."

"But," she placed her hand on his arm. "They're taking your crew away. They're breaking us up."

He looked at me. I nodded.

"That's okay. It's sucks, but I'll deal. Being a captain's awesome—I don't want you to miss out on it. What's happening to you, Scotty?"

"Aye, I'm going with Nyota on the _Ahwahnee_. Chief Engineer, as usual. I threatened to quit if they promoted me—oh, command's fine. But my first love's always going to be those warp engines."

Jim laughed. I stepped closer to him. He refused to show it, but I could feel his shock.

"Bones? Are you sticking around?"

He shook his head.

"They transferred you?"

"They tried. No, I'm not going back on another deep space mission. I've missed five years of watching Joanna grow. I don't want to miss another five," he paused. "Sorry Jim."

"It's fine. What're you going to do?"

"Medical research at Starfleet. Learn to be a dad. But you know that I refuse to serve on any other ship but yours."

"Chris?"

"I've been assigned Chief Medical Officer on the _Excelsior_."

"Giotto's coming with me. He's been promoted to Lt. Commander, retaining his position as Chief Security Officer," Nyota added.

"Fuck. _Fuck_. It's like they cannibalized my crew and divided you up in teams."

I gave Jim his own datapad.

"What?" he scrolled through the file. "They're promoting _me_?!"

"It will be an honor to serve under you, Commodore Kirk."

"And they're promoting you to captain. At least we get to keep the _Enterprise_."

"Even Starfleet isn't daft enough to split up a married couple," Scotty nodded. "I have to say, Jim, that I'll miss all the lovely excitement and your absolutely unreasonable demands."

"_Soglasno_. I will haf to poke Sulu to break more laws of physics. Maybe we can be holding a contest!"

"I hope your contest doesn't extend to how many times you stand at the threshold of death," Christine said, voice wry.

Everyone laughed.

"You know what?"

"Here we go," Leonard rolled his eyes.

"Keptan has an idea."

"I'd be up for hijacking this ship. Let's do it," Sulu smiled.

"Will you guys just shut up for a second?"

"You're not going to suggest that we slingshot around the sun to go back in time, are you?" Scotty said, wary.

"I don't think I can we can afford any more changes in the timeline," Nyota replied.

"Hush. You haven't let him get a word in edgewise," Christine said.

Jim glared.

"Are you guys done? Yeah? Can I talk now? Spock, you have anything to say?"

I raised an eyebrow.

Chekov sniggered.

The silence stretched.

"Jesus Christ, Jim, what're you waiting for? A drumroll?"

"I can do that!"

He and Sulu began to pound the surfaces nearby.

Jim put his face in his hands.

"I think we broke the captain," Nyota laughed.

"He's not captain anymore, he's commodore. Commodore Kirk! We ought to give him a real send off."

"You're just using that as an excuse to finish off your moonshine."

"Ey! You have something against my moonshine, Nurse Chapel?"

"That's CMO Chapel to you."

Pavel and Sulu continued their drumroll. Jim looked up, a smile on his face.

_I'm going to miss this_.

"Your moonshine aint nearly as good as you think it is, crazy Scotsman."

"I see how it is. You two are allied in this. All right, I'd like to see how you go about making moonshine in a bloody Constitution class starship."

"Scotty, you really don't need to get all up in arms about this," Nyota shook her head.

Pavel and Sulu added the chant "fight, fight, fight" to their drumroll.

Jim was laughing.

I looked at him.

_I'm really going to miss this_.

_Be that as it may, commodore_—

_I kind of want to see how this turns out_.

_Jim._

_Fine. You can break it up. Spoilsport._

I raised my eyebrow.

"_Kroykah_!"

Everyone stared at me.

_Spotlight's on you_.

_You had something to say to the crew._

_I think I'll let you field this one, captain_.

He grinned.

"The commodore would like to host a celebration before we enter space dock and disembark. He would like, and I quote 'to throw a party so badass that even the Klingons hear about it.' That is all."

"Go out with a bang. I like it," Scotty declared.

"I should've seen that one coming. You're getting predictable, Jim."

"Don't complain, or I really _will_ hijack this ship and go back in time."

"_Davai_, keptan. Let's do it. I can be calculating ewerything in three hours."

"For the hell of it," Sulu nodded.

"Boys," Nyota smiled.

"I'll sedate you both from now 'til we get to space dock if I catch you doing some fool time travel calculations! You know I will."

"Doctor, you do not know what time travel calculations are looking like."

"Yeah? Well, then I'll just sedate you."

"I can't believe I'm going to be serving with these two maniacs," Christine said.

"Captain, or commodore—Jim, I'm up for a party. Scotty owes me a dance."

"Oh no. I told you, I've got two feet lefter than a group of Andorian anarchists—"

"You really aren't that bad. At doing the 'robot'," Sulu grinned.

"This bloody woman wants to do some ballroom waltzing ballet—"

"Even _I_ know that's not a dance, and I'm a goddamn country doctor."

"Spock's a pretty good dancer."

"It's the Vulcan elegance," Nyota teased. "Though the first time you pulled him onto the dance floor—that was awkward."

"I distinctly recall that you promised no one would remember the occasion, as they were all supposedly inebriated."

"Sorry, guess I lied. I'll make it up to you?"

"Your demeanor indicates that you are not sorry in the least."

"Blame it on the Kirk-force," Pavel laughed.

"Blame practically everything on the damn Kirk-force."

"I wonder if the effect is localized to the immediate area around the captain. What do you say, Nyota? Can I run a little test on the engines—I just thought of the perfect little hypothesis—"

"Scotty? Maybe it's best not to give Nyota a heart attack before she even takes command of her own ship?" Christine laughed.

"Kirk-force is not being localized to just the keptan—"

"But you did say it happens an awful lot around him and Spock—"

"You understood ewerything I presented at the conference?"

"Pasha, I've served on this ship with you for five years. I think I picked up some Russian. It's inevitable that I pick up more theoretical physics than I ever wanted to know."

"We all rubbed off on each other, more or less," Leonard nodded.

"I should hope less, doctor," I said, eyebrow raised.

"The feeling's mutual, green blooded hobgoblin."

"Bones, just admit you're going to miss your half-brother—"

"I don't know where that fool idea came from, but I swear I'll wring their neck—!"

"See, the family resemblance is uncanny," Christine replied.

"Aye, it is at that."

Scotty grins Leonard scowls Christine nudges him with her elbow Sulu and Pavel hi-five Nyota's eyes dance Jim takes my hand.

_I'm going to miss this_.

Jim's eyes are blue, blazing, taking in the sight of his crew laughing so easily, smiling freely. He remembers times of crisis when he leaned on each and every one to perform above the call of duty, to stretch the limits of their abilities and shatter the ceiling of impossibilities. Sulu's steady hands, Pavel rapidly calculating, Nyota's furrowed brow, Scotty yelling through the comms, Christine's grey eyes, Leonard growling at his patients.

He remembers times when they almost died. He remembers breaking free from a black hole, warping through a plasma cloud, flying too close to the sun. He remembers jokes shared, grief poured, frustration and anger, but most of all, the bright light of laughter. Card games and shore leaves, alcohol and music, birthdays and meals together, a lifetime of small moments unfold as he watches and listens to their banter. And underneath, the bittersweet knowledge that this too will end.

Another commission, another crew. Another long road of building the right dynamic, working with people and fine tuning every relationship until the bridge works together seamlessly, fluidly. He does not doubt that his next crew will be excellent. That they will rise to the challenges that space presents. He knows his own power now, his strengths and limitations. Experience gives him confidence that he will be able to mold his new officers exactly as he requires. Yet he is not so arrogant that he believes he knows everything. The next mission will change him, just as this mission defined him.

But he is going to miss them. His first crew. They will hold a special place in his memory. With them, he forged a family. With them, he mastered this craft of command. Bold, young, daring to the point of recklessness, he tested himself and proved himself to the rest of the world. He pushed himself, he pushed them. They pushed back. And somehow, they coalesced. Came together to create _this_. He does not know how it happened, only that it did, and that he will miss them when they embark on their own journeys on their own ships, learning that same process with their own crew.

He will never forget them.

For we are a family. We are his family. A family for a boy who never knew his father, lost his mother and stepfather in a massacre, was estranged from his brother. A family for a teenager who was placed in home after home after home, never staying for more than a year. By the time he was in Starfleet, he had forgotten what it was like to dream of a family. He focused on the future, looked to space for freedom. What he found was us.

Irritation and clashing heads, arguing and easing the tension, humor and testing boundaries, working together communicating with each other holding out a hand to help, a nod of acknowledgement, an open smile, a laugh of surprise and delight behind their eyes, walking side by side going two steps forward and three steps backward, and repeating all those motions ad infinitum. Until it is understood that despite misunderstandings and fights or pranks and teasing, we will stand by each other to whatever end.

His thoughts turn to me. How our own relationship grew inside this family. Could it have survived, could it have taken place without them? We are strong enough now that we may stand on our own two feet and support each other. But that strength was not born in a day. It took time. It took their love and acceptance to see it through to the bond we have today. Now, Jim and I lend strength to others. It was not always so. Before that could happen, we both of us relied on the generosity of this family. We drew from their deep springs when our own waters had dried.

Why must all good things come to an end?

Why must we journey on, continue to another chapter? What we have now is irreplaceable. There is no other family in this universe that can compare. Why must we let go of it?

Will we ever meet another Sulu? Can the universe produce another Chekov? Does any mind burn as brilliantly as Scotty's? Does any heart beat as fiercely as Leonard's? Who could ever replace Christine? Who would dare imitate Nyota?

No one.

All good things must come to an end.

And as we move forward, we will meet new people, see new faces, work with new crewmembers, and they will all fill a different place, another place. They will transform us in ways we could not anticipate. We will walk down paths unforeseen. We will confront dangers uncharted. We cannot afford to remain stationary when time is sweeping by, taking us to new worlds and pushing us to new frontiers. All good things must come to an end, but it does not stand to reason that all good things are ended forever. We must journey on to discover what other good there is in the universe. For it is out there, waiting. And we must search for it.

It is what we have devoted our lives to—space. The unending frontier. This voyage we shared aboard the starship _Enterprise_ expanded our knowledge of the universe we inhabit. It challenged longstanding theories. It opened up new fields of study, brought us into contact with new life forms, transformed the very way we think and consider ourselves. We boldly went where no one has ever gone before. Then returned from that undiscovered country, bringing with us knowledge, tales of adventure, the scent of exotic lands, the promise of freedom. Like sailors from Terra's history, we dock, we unload, we part. But we must return to the sea.

So we continue.

We will never forget each other.

Yet we continue.

For if there is one truth I have learned in my time aboard the _Enterprise_, it is this:

Journeys always never end.

_I'm going to miss this._

One path ends, another begins. Restart and cycle back, renew and retrace the long road we took to come here, to this place where everything separates once more. Reboot, recreate. Resume. Remember without regret. Walk forward.

Everything in its changed form.

_Journeys always never end_.

"A friendship that will define you both, in ways you cannot yet realize."

A gamble.

"An act of faith."

Repeated and repeated and repeated.

_O, wonder! / How many goodly creatures are there here! / How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world, / That has such people in't!_

I'm going to miss this.

A gamble, an act of faith, repeated and repeated and repeated for these brave new worlds, that have such people in them.

"The family resemblance is uncanny."

"Aye, it is as that."

_Jina jema hungara gizani__._

A good name shines in the dark.

Light streams through the darkness.


	262. Ch 262

Serving under Commodore James Tiberius Kirk will be a markedly different experience. Already there are several points where he plans to diverge from his former command style as captain. I anticipate that it will be some time before we are able to optimize the _Enterprise_'s performance to carry out all duties at our personal standard of efficiency.

The observations I have made these past five years concerning command and crew dynamics may or may not apply to our new situation. It has been noted that the incoming crewmembers look forward to working with myself and the commodore. They take confidence in the fact that our relationship is marked by implicit trust, candor, and an intimate, intuitive knowledge of each other's thought processes. None of these qualities had been present when I first served with the commodore, nor could I foresee such developments taking place. However, the effort I made to understand Commodore Kirk and the extensive data I gathered on his character, supplemented by our day-to-day interactions, led to _this_. This, despite the fact that he and I have few characteristics in common.

How did this happen? At times, I feel I still do not know him. At times, I wonder how I lived so long without him. How is it possible that this man represents the very depth of space and the diversity of life that exists in this universe?

I remember our beginning. I remember the long road we took, the high price we paid to get here.

I have no regrets. There can be none, when life has gifted me with so much that is good. Though I have looked into the abyss and seen the face of evil, though I have despaired and grieved and sorrowed, though there have been times when I was lost, I do not look back to remember bitterness and evil. Such sentiments lead to blindness, the inability to marvel at the beauty of light burning in darkness.

_All good things must come to an end._

I will live. We will continue. Our journey will change.

_I'm going to miss this._

I will fulfill my duties as First Officer to Commodore Kirk, as a Science Officer in Starfleet, and as a Vulcan in the Federation.


	263. Endnote

Author's Endnote

"I think novelists come in two types, and that includes the sort of fledgling novelist I was by 1970. Those who are bound for the more literary or 'serious' side of the job examine every possible subject in the light of the question: _What would writing this sort of story mean to me?_ Those whose destiny (or ka, if you like) is to include the writing of popular novels are apt to ask a very different one: _What would writing this sort of story mean to others?_ The 'serious' novelist is looking for answers and keys to the self; the 'popular' novelist is looking for an audience. Both kinds of writer are equally selfish."

-Stephen King

Thanks for reading _Observations_. It's been a journey writing it. I'll say up front that I will not be writing a sequel, nor am I certain that I'll be writing more fanfiction in the future. Some of you have asked if I'm a professional writer. I'm not. This is actually the second full length fictional piece I've ever written to completion. It was started, continued, and finished for very specific and personal reasons. Now it's done. I've said what's needed to be said—the remainder of what I need to say is in this endnote.

Whatever you thought of this piece, however you chose to read it, whether or not it provoked you—I hope that some part of it resonated with you. Each person, as we go through the motions, gathers experiences. Our experiences aren't always comparable, and so much of the time I find that words fall short of what we want to say and share. But if you found something compelling in a few words, a sentence, of this piece, then I've succeeded. Because even though this is fanfiction, even though these aren't my characters and none of this is real, I wanted to write something true. I wanted to write something real.

In many ways, _Observations_ is a synthesis of everything I've learned up to this point. Someday, I hope I'll look back and see a change, growth from who I am now. Throughout the piece, I tried to strike a balance. I wanted both laughter and sorrow, anger and happiness. Good and evil. Hope and despair. Logic and emotion. Fear, courage, gain, loss, all of those dichotomies. I am not entirely sure I succeeded, but I tried. Because up to this point in my life, as far as I've observed and experienced, it seems that's how things go. Everything comes with a cost—or conversely, everything comes with a reward. It depends on how you see things, and where you're looking from.

I tried to strike a balance because that's how I see reality, and as a writer, I strive for realism. But I'm not above bending the rules, or breaking them. Because I can. Because this is my realm, these are my words, this is my creation and what I say is law here. I cannot say the same for reality, which is unwieldy and seldom cooperates with me or anyone I know. We deal with reality, not the other way around.

Sometimes I smash reality. It's my way of getting even. My real life, like the real lives of all people, has something to be desired. I have a lot to be thankful for—when I sit down and think of how lucky I've been, I'm amazed. I've also experienced bullshit that I hope no one will ever be subjected to again, even though I know they will. People are people. Reality is reality. Sometimes that knowledge makes me shake.

I've paid a price. Several times, over and over. Almost like paying off the mortgage. There're times when I wonder if that's the cost of this gift, this ability I have to make you laugh, cry, feel and think, see. Sometimes I wish—but why regret? What's done is done.

I am a writer and though I strive for realism, I wrote a happy ending. Why? Because I can. Because I know what it's like to have a miserable ending, an ending without resolution, a dull thud and silence. We all do. I wrote a happy ending because I wanted the characters to have happiness. It sounds so trite, doesn't it? But real happiness I find is a rare thing. They had to work for it, they had to pay for it, they had to earn it with blood and sweat and tears—but it only served to make the bonds between them stronger. They have happiness because life is better that way, and it gives hope.

Perhaps that's what it comes down to. Hope. I write about hope. I write about the hope for acceptance in the midst of isolation. Love in a desert. Freedom in darkness. The struggle for life when you can't find a single reason to keep going. The courage to persevere, not only to survive, but to thrive. Maybe in your opinion my writing isn't realistic at all, if hope is what I write about. Measly, paltry, skinny little thing. But it means the world to me. Laughter, the ability to smile, mean the world to me.

Because there have been points in time when I have had no hope, no escape, no freedom. There was a time when the only thing I could do was live day to day, dreaming, wondering if I could have a future. Somewhere in that time—I don't know when, but the important thing is that it happened at all—somewhere in that time I swore to myself that I could ever know happiness, if I ever got to the stage where I could write freely, that is what I would write about: the things worth living for. The things worth fighting for.

So I hope some part of _Observations_ resonated with you, however you chose to read it—whether as a great adventure story or something more. To the reader who finds him/herself facing terror and the masks of people, please—keep fighting, keep hoping, and wait for tomorrow (heart beats to remember heart beats to remain).

To everyone else, thanks for reading. It cost me more than words can say to write this, but I'm glad I did. I've said what I needed to say, and now I can move on. This is complete.

May you have peace and long life.

Or as Spock would say—

Live long and prosper.

-j. Anon


End file.
